






























































t 








Benson Making a Sb.erry Cobler, 





THE 



NEW-YORK: 

STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 222 BROADWAY. 


M.DCCO.T.II. 




















THE 


UPPER TEN THOUSAND: 

' SKETCHES 


AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


C. ASTOIl BEISTBD. 


NEW-YORK: 

STRINGER <fe TOWNSEND, 222 BROADWAY. 


M.DCCC.LII. 


V 



John F. Trow, Printer, 
49 Ann-st., New-York. 





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^ ESTATE 0. 

(sniiiAM c, 

iN^RIL, 191# 


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NTENTS. 


PAG*. 

Introduction - - - - - 6 

CHAPTER I. 

The Third Avenue in Sleighing Time - - - - 18 

CHAPTER II. 

A Wedding ‘ above Bleecker ’ - - - - 87 

CHAPTER III. 

Catching. A Lion ------ 52 

- CHAPTER ly. 

Life at a Watering-Place. — Accidents will Happen - - 80 

CHAPTER V. 

Life AT A Watering-Place — Oldport Springs - - 97 

CHAPTER VI. 

Life at a Watering-Place-^The Lionne - - - 127 

CHAPTER VII. 

Life at a Watering-Place — The dog of Alcibiades - 158 






4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Life at a Watering-Place. — The Lion in the Toils - 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Trot on the Island - _ _ _ 

- CPAPTER X. 

A Country Gentleman at Home _ . _ 




« 


- 184 


204 


- 245 


INTEODUCTION. 


9 


^ Upper Ten’ conception of one : a young man who, 
starting with a handsome person and fair natural abili- 
ties, adds to these the advantages of inherited wealth, a 
liberal education, and foreign travel. He possesses much 
general information, and practical dexterity in applying 
it, great world-knowledge and aplomb^ financial shrewd- 
ness, readiness in composition — speaks half a dozen lan- 
guages, dabbles in literature, in business, in every thing 
but politics — talks metaphysics one minute, and dances 
the polka the next — in short, knows a little of every 
thing, with a knack of reproducing it effectively ; more- 
over, is a man of moral purity, deference to women and 
hospitality to strangers, which I take to be the three 
characteristic virtues of a New-York gentleman. On 
the other hand, he has the faults of his class strongly 
marked — intense foppery in dress, general Sybaritism of 
living, a great deal of Jack-Brag-ism and show-off, my- 
thological and indiscreet habits of conversation, a perni- 
cious custom of sneering at every body and every thing, 
inconsistent blending of early Puritan and acquired 
Continental habits, occasional fits of recklessness break- 
ing through the routine of a worldly-prudent life. The 
character is so evidently a type — even if it were not 
designated as such in so many words, more than once — 
that it is surprising it should ever have been attributed 
to an individual — above all, to one who is never at home 
but in two places — outside of a horse and inside of a li- 


10 


INTRODUCTION. 


brary. Most of the other characters are similarly types 
— that is to say, they represent certain styles and varie- 
ties of men. The fast boy of Young America (from 
whose diary Pensez-y gave you a leaf last summer j, whose 
great idea of life is dancing, eating supper after danc- 
ing, and gambling after eating supper ; the older exqui- 
site, without fortune enough to hurry brilliantly on, who 
makes general gallantry his amusement and occupation ; 
the silent man, hlaz€ before thirty, and not to be moved 
by any thing ; (a variety of American much overlooked 
by strangers, but existing in great perfection, both here 
and at the south ;) the beau of the ^ second set,’ dressy, 
vulgar and goo3-natured ; these and others I dave en- 
deavored to depict. Now, as every class is made up of 
individuals, every character representing a class must re- 
semble some of the individuals in it, in some particulars ; 
but if you undertook to attach to each single character 
one and the same living representative, you would soon 
find each of them, like Mrs. Malaprop’s Cerberus, ^ three 
gentlemen at once,’ if not many more; and should one 
of your ‘ country readers,’ anxious to ^ put the right names 
to them,’ address — not one^ but, jive or six — of his ‘ town 
correspondents,’ he would get answers about as harmo- 
nious as if he had consulted the same number of German 
commentators on the meaning of a disputed passage in 
a Greek tragedian. Some of the personages are purely 
fanciful — for instance, Mr. Harrison — such a man as 


INTKODUCTION. 


11 


never did exist, but I imagine might very well exist, 
among us. But, as the development of these characters 
is still in manuscript, it would be premature to say more 
of them. 

Yet one word. The sketches were written entirely 
for the English market, so to speak, without any expec- 
tation of their being generally read or republished here. 
This will account for their containing many things which 
must seem very flat and common-place to an American 
reader — such as descriptions of sulkies and trotting- 
wagons, how people dress, and what they eat for dinner, 
etc. ; which are nevertheless not necessarily uninterest- 
ing to an Englishman who has not seen this country. 
Excuse me for trespassing thus far on your patience, and 
believe me, dear sir, yours very truly, 

C. A. Bristed. 


CHAPTEE I. 


THE THIRD AVEKUE IN SLEIGHIKa TIME. 

A HEAVY snow on Broadway ! The house-tops are 
all iced over like so many big holiday cakes. The 
ugly telegraph posts, that suggest to the occupants of 
the second floors the idea of an execution perpetually 
about to take place under their windows, are not desti- 
tute of the same tempting white covering ; and high up 
in the gutters are piled heaps of the plentifully-dispensed 
commodity — so high, that in places the foot-passengers 
can hardly see over them. But on the causeway i^Amer- 
icanic^^ ^ side-walk’) the feet of pedestrians, and in the 
middle of the street the hoofs of horses and the runners 
of sleighs, have packed down the smoothest and sweetest 
of all ‘ metal ’ for roads into a hard pavement three or 
four inches thick, of a dirty dun hue. Out of doors it 
is cold, but pleasantly cold, — brisk, exhilarating, spark- 
ling, — as if an extra quantity of electricity (and is it not 
really so ?) were abroad in the atmosphere. This sensa- 
tion is particularly observable during a snow-storm, and 
renders it absolutely agreeable to walk in one, until the 
insidious moisture begins to penetrate your garments ; 
but both before and after the actual fall it is plainly per- 
ceptible, nor is it now unaided by the musical accom- 
paniment of the sleigh-bells. Every thing feels the in- 
2 


14 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


fluence, and goes a-head accordingly. Men shuffle and 
slip along in their India-rubber overshoes at a five-miles- 
the-hour pace. Boys half sliding, half running, with 
skates suspended on arm, are hurrying to the nearest 
ice-ponds, or other temporary skating-ground they know 
of : and sleighs are swarming up and down the street, 
of all sorts and sizes, from the huge omnibus with its 
thirty passengers, that lumbers along behind four or six 
horses, some trotting and some cantering under great 
pressure of whip, to the light, gaily-painted (hitters, with 
their solitary fur-capped tenants, their embroidered bear- 
skin robes flaunting down behind, and their iron-mouthed- 
lightning-footed pacers, that seem to draw them entirely 
by the bit, so slender and all but invisible is the attach- 
ing harness. And every now and then passes a family 
party, a little red or blue about the noses, but very jolly 
for all that ; beautiful girls buried in furs, and glancing 
from under their wrappings with demure looks of mis- 
chief, as if the bells rang for them the tune ^ I’m owre 
young to marry yet lots of children, who have always 
an intense appreciation of the fur ; a tall black coach- 
man, all alive to the dignity and responsibility of his 
position ; the large and roomy sleigh decked with buffalo* 
and black bear and grey lynx robes, red-riband-bound 
and furnished with sham eyes and ears, so that the car- 
riage resembles a portable menagerie ; while the gallant 

* It would be as pedantic in America to call this animal hison^ as 
to speak of ‘the earth bringing the sun into view,’ for ‘ the sun ris- 
ing.’ ‘ Buffalo ’ is often used independently for ‘ buffalo robe,’ 
whence they tell a good story of two Englishmen just arrived in 
Boston. They ordered a sleigh, having heard of such a thing in a 
general way, without being conversant with the particulars of it. 
‘Will you have one buffalo or two?’ asked the hostler. ‘Why,’ 
says Cockney, looking a little frightened, ‘ we’ll have only one the 
first time, as we're not used to driimig them? 


THIRD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 15 


horses, curbed with their heads well out from the pole, 
are stepping twelve miles an hour, and ready to keep up 
that pace for half the day. The Londoner, who in his 
complacency brags of the carriages and horses of his 
native city as the finest in the world, should go to New- 
York to learn wisdom in coacli-horse-fiesh. There he 
would see many a pair sold for six hundred dollars that 
a duke would be glad to get for as many guineas. You 
can scarcely find a carriage-horse that is not a beauty ; 
and they exhibit all varieties of beauty, from the blood 
chestnut colt, a-fire in every muscle, yet gentle and tract? 
able amid a crowd of vehicles, to the heavy grey, sixteen- 
and*a-half hands high, firm as a statue, travelling on with 
a majestic action and a steady pace. A lover of the 
noble animal on arriving here congratulates himself on 
having reached the paradise of horses and horsemen, 
until he resides long enough to require a mount, when 
the mystery is explained. He finds that all the best 
horses in the country are trained to harness, and that a 
good saddle beast is for a gentleman the work of months 
to find, — for a lady, a very phcenix. 

But there is one particular sleigh to which I must 
direct your attention — though, indeed, you would be 
likely to notice it without my doing so, as it sweeps 
round from one of the side streets, for its style and 
equipments are in some respects unique. The body is 
a sea-green shell, not answering exactly to any known 
species, extant or fossil, but carved out of wood, after a 
fantastic pattern, something between a scallop and a 
nautilus, evincing considerable imagination on the part 
of the designer or builder. And you can see the owner 
is proud of the idea; for, while all the other sleighs 
that pass are so hung behind with bear or buffalo robes 
that you can scarcely discern the colour, much less the 


16 


SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


shape of their bodies, this one, to show off its peculiar 
form, and also perhaps to do justice to its crimson velvet 
lining, has no back-robe at all, the black bear being 
placed in front, instead of the ordinary wild-cat or wolf 
lap-skin. The runners are a pale straw-colour; the 
harness, which is rather more elaborate than usual for a 
one-horse sleigh, is adorned with silver crests, and the 
double-plated bells (suspended by a band of red leather, 
which encircles the body just behind the saddle of the 
collar) are acorns instead of the customary walnut pat- 
tern. The horse is not exactly such an one as a London 
exquisite might select for his cab ; he has neither com- 
manding stature nor clambering step, finely-arched neck, 
nor gracefully sweeping tail ; but he is ‘ all horse, what 
there is of him,’ and his points irreproachable for a 
roadster. He is a dark bay, fifteen hands and a half 
high, with the compact figure, chunky neck, powerful 
fore-arm, and projecting hip of a trotter, and he steps 
fair and square in his gait, without a pause or a hitch 
anywhere, as a gentleman’s trotter should. The portion 
of the turn-out most open to criticism is the groom, an 
unmistakable Pat. He has on a Parisian hat, probably 
a second-hand one of his master’s ; an old pair of fash- 
ionably-cut trousers, most likely derived from the same 
source ; a white cravat ; and a coachman’s greatcoat of 
dark blue cloth, with huge plated buttons and a crest on 
them. Such make-shift liveries may be seen all along 
Broadway on fine days, marring the appearance of the 
otherwise perfect equipages that congregate before Stew- 
art’s, the Howell and James of Gotham. When some 
enterprising imitators of European customs first intro- 
duced liveries, there was a great outcry against them on 
the part of the sovereign people. They were hooted out 
of Boston, and remain banished to this day. In New- 


THIRD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 17 


York the hatband has gained a partial and the button a 
general footing, but the plush has not been able to keep 
its ground; so that the servants’ costume presents a 
walking allegory of society, part English form and de- 
ference, part French affectation and dandyism, part na- 
tive independence and outward equality. 

The sleigh stops before a house in the upper part of 
Broadway. Broadway was once the fashionable place of 
residence, as it still is the fashionable promenade, and 
most of the city magnates lived in it ; but the progress 
of business northward crowded them out, and their 
dwelling-houses became shops, till, throughout its three 
miles of extent, from the Battery to Union Place, scarce- 
ly a private residence remains, except in the most north- 
erly half-mile, which still partly sustains its claim to be 
in the fashionable quarter of the town. Even here the 
dwellings are interspersed with shops ; elegant mansions 
are beginning to be elbowed by dentists and boarding- 
houses, and to assume an appearance of having been in 
the aristocratic precincts. Such is the house in question ; 
but, though hard pressed by a business neighbourhood, 
it is still evidently the residence of a man of wealth and 
position. What is more remarkable, two or three garden 
lots are attached to it, and the garden and shrubbery 
form a marked break in the line of regularly-built four- 
story houses above and below. This is certainly a phe- 
nomenon in an American city, where a man will sip Cor- 
don Bleu and Latour every day, or buy two hundred 
dollar handkerchiefs for his wife, or pay a fancy price for 
a fast trotter ; but to lose the interest on a town lot by 
making a garden of it, is an extravagance not to be 
thought of 

Two young men come out of the house. The first 
stands five feet ten (in his boots, which help him an 


18 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


inch), and is, probably, not a bad-looking fellow to begin 
with. At any rate, whatever he may be by nature, he 
has made the most of himself by art, being got up like a 
picture with a fine eye to effect and contrast. He has a 
very white overcoat, with a white velvet collar and large 
white silk buttons, and very black pantaloons {Anglice^ 
trousers), chequered with a white bar, so ambitious in its 
dimensions, that there is not more than a square and a 
half of the figure on each leg, said legs not being very 
large. For a muffler he wears a red India scarf, leaving 
a little aperture under the knot at the throat to let us 
have a glimpse of the diamond pin that fastens his red 
andL black satin long cravat. His black hair is as glossy 
and neat as a woman’s, and his moustache, which not be- 
ing so old as his hair by twenty years is considerably 
lighter, has been brought up to a corresponding sable by 
some skilfully applied dye, so as to set off to the best 
advantage the clear red and white of his complexion. 
Even through those thick white buckskin gloves and 
heavy cork-soled boots you may see that his extremities 
are delicately small; and even through the carefully 
buttoned sack-coat you may notice that his figure is more 
slender in the waist and hollow in the back than you 
would have expected from his height, judging him by an 
English standard. His head is protected by a rich otter- 
skin cap, nearly as tall as a hat. The front and ear- 
pieces are turned up, and it is set rather jauntily on one 
side ; but should the day prove too cold he can bury his 
features in it, till only the tip of his nose is exposed. 
That is Harry Masters, a young man of the exclusives, 
rejoicing in nothing to do and ten thousand a-year (dol- 
lars, not pounds) to spend. He has not long returned 
from his travels, and next week is to marry one of the 
most beautiful women in the city. She has just attained 
her majority, and he is just twenty- three. 


THIRD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 19 


His companion is about ten years older, though he 
might be any age, from twenty-five to forty, so far as his 
face shows, being one of those dark, wiry men, who retain 
the same appearance for fifteen or twenty years, and 
make up for looking like old men in their youth by look- 
ing like young men in their middle age. Not that Tib- 
bets Schuyler the broker is an ugly man ; on the con- 
trary, he is rather handsome — decidedly handsome, we 
might call him, according to the American type of men. 
He stands six feet two in his boots, and weighs barely 
one hundred and fifty pounds, great coat and all. His 
hair and whiskers are jet black, his features regular and 
well-proportioned (except that his nose is a trifle long)? 
and his dark eyes keen and expressive. If you were 
told that he was a jolly good fellow and a trump, there 
is nothing in his countenance to belie it ; if you were 
told that he would take in his own father for sixpence, 
there is nothing in his countenance to belie that either : 
one thing only you would infer immediately and correct- 
ly, that it is no easy matter to take him in. His fea- 
tures, we have said, are good, but his face is of a uniform 
sallow tint, without freshness or colour. In this dys- 
peptic countenance, in the lines about his mouth and the 
absence of a moustache, you read the young man of bu- 
siness, who works hard and lives high, smokes abun- 
dantly, and, though too frugal of time to indulge in 
after-dinner or midnight revelries, has a pernicious habit 
of taking small drinks in the morning. These men pre- 
sent a singular contrast and combination of strength and 
weakness. They can work at their desks all day for 
days together ; they walk like locomotives when they do 
walk ; are impervious to the intoxicating effects of any 
known liquor ; and though generally prudent enough to 
keep out of a row, acquit themselves manfully if ever 


20 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


caught in one. But they are continually bilious, dys- 
peptic, and altogether seedy ; are subject to rheumatism 
and other venerable disorders, require strong excitement 
to amuse them, and know little of that every-day enjoy- 
ment of mere animal existence which a man derives 
from good health and consequent cheerful spirits. Of 
course Schuyler is not an exquisite. His drab great-coat 
is a real working, travelling garment, with plenty of 
pockets, and no superfluous ornament in the way of 
cording, velvet, or buttons. His pantaloons (as he would 
call them) are an old black pair that have already done 
duty for dress as long as they were presentable, for eve- 
ning parties ; his hat is not of the newest, and his neck 
is defended by a blue worsted comforter. Yet are none 
of these things put on carelessly, but with the air of a 
man who had been fashionably, dressed when younger, 
and may be again when richer. His tastes now, how- 
ever, are certainly not fashionable, nor can they be called 
literary. In the evening — if it is not the night before 
packet-day, or no other business call interposes — he pa- 
tronizes Burton’s theatre or the Ethiopian Singers ; and 
at three in the afternoon, when his ofiice and the banks 
are shut, and his day’s work generally through, he reads 
the papers (the usual extent of his reading), if the 
weather is unfavourable ; if it is flne he drives a trotter, 
or rather assists at the driving of one. For he does not 
keep a ‘ fast crab’ now himself ; he is too intent on mak- 
ing a fortune, in the pursuit of which he has missed fire 
once already. No, he goes out driving with one and ano- 
ther of his friends, and in this way partially gets the in- 
terest of his earlier investments in horseflesh. 

And now the two friends are in the quaint little ma- 
chine, filling the shell body full to overflowing, so that 
the bronzed railing which runs around the top of the back 


THIRD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 21 


seems very necessary to keep one or both of them from 
being canted out ; Schuyler coils his long legs under him, 
the bear-skin is tucked in on both sides, ‘ Ke-ip, Charlie !’ 
and the sleigh glides off at a five minute pace. 

It is a nice position altogether, that of Masters. 
Take a young man, handsome and clever enough to make 
him courted by others, and on very good terms with him- 
self, in exuberant health (for Harry has not been home 
long enough to lose his fresh tint and grow dyspeptic), 
comfortably off in point of ‘ tin’ for the present, and rich 
in anticipation and imagination for the future, in all the 
flush and exultation of a rapid, fervent, and successful 
courtship, and all his other delights swallowed up in the 
delight of reflecting that a witty and beautiful woman is 
soon to be his — put him into a well-appointed sleigh, and 
let an indefatigable ^trotter take him along eleven or 
twelve miles an hour, with the potentiality of nearly 
doubling that speed, and as he glides away musing on all 
his good luck, it would be a hard case if he were not 
happy and thankful. 

Yet why is not his lady e-love with him? Poor girl, 
it is so near the time that half her mornings are spent in 
consultation with dress-makers, and the accepted one is 
postponed to the milliner. But he has the memory of 
her last ineffable smile in his heart, and feels content. 
Schuyler looks amiable too. His are not the rosy visions 
and golden dreams of Masters, the pleasant realities 
rivalled by more pleasant anticipations ; but he is think- 
ing of the good hit he made in government sixes last 
week, and how comfortable the sleigh is. 

‘ Why, you might go to sleep in this, Harry,’ says the 
broker, who has just settled down into the position that 
affords perfect support to his back, and is lying coiled up 
like a sea-serpent in repose. 

2 * 


22 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


Not the beginning of an answer from the other, who 
is dreaming of that smile^ no doubt. The horse, mean- 
while, seems to be taking care of himself. Having no 
winkers, he sees his own way and keeps a look-out, not 
only before but behind him. Were a hand lifted or a 
handkerchief exhibited by his driver, he would take it 
for a signal to be off, and would be off like a hurricane 
accordingly. And therefore is the cherry-handled whip 
kept completely out of his sight, lying in the hollow be- 
tween Master’s side and the side of the sleigh, with the 
top sticking out behind under Harry’s right arm and 
appearing to grow out of his pocket. Few trotters will 
bear even the sight of the whip — at least not till half 
tired. A man usually wants all his hands to hold them 
to their trot. 

‘ That’s really a nice animal,’ says Schuyler, at last. 
He has hit the right topic to arouse his friend, who 
immediately begins to show signs of returning conscious- 
ness. 

‘Yes, Charlie is a good horse. But I am not quite 
sure that he is now at the work he is best fit for. I 
rode him the other day and found he had the remains 
of a real canter, and all his paces were so good under the 
saddle that I think of devoting him to that purpose after 
this snow is over. He is not fast enough for harness.’ 

‘ How fast V 

‘ Three seventeen with two in a wagon.’ 

‘ But he is young.’ 

‘ Seven.’ 

‘ A horse does not fairly begin to trot till nine or ten. 
I wouldn’t give up my original purpose. But we are 
out too early to test his speed against anything. It is 
only just past two.’ (He has taken a half-holiday to-day 
on the strength of its being his birth-day.) 


THIRD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 23 


‘ Exactly the reason I came out so early. I don’t 
want to race him, at least on the out-road. He has 
been in the stable for two days, and is too free to trot. 
We will go to Yorkville at an exercise gait, and then 
turn.’ 

W^hile thus talking they have left Broadway, and, 
turning to the right, have passed through Lafayette 
Place, a short, wide street, with a marble colonnade on 
one side and large brick and granite mansions on the 
other. Another turn to the right brings them into the 
Bowery, the great democratic, as Broadway is the great 
aristocratic, thoroughfare. It is a wider and straighter 
street, but the houses have a very different appearance. 
Markets, butchers’ stalls, and secondhand furniture 
shops, abound in it. Leaving this not very interesting 
ground they shoot transversely into the Third Avenu^ 
which, however, for the first five minutes, presents 
nearly the same features, till at the distance of a mile 
from their starting-point it begins to assume its proper 
characteristics. 

The Third Avenue has been ever since it was made, 
that is -to say for twenty years, the exercise and trial 
ground of all the fast trotters and pacers in the city. 
It runs about a mile in town to the end of the ‘ stones’ 
or pavement, and nearly five miles out of town to Har- 
laem Bridge. In these five miles of road there are just 
as many hills, not steep, but gradual, and pretty equally 
distributed, so that every third or quarter of a mile 
presents a different level ; and in every mile you have 
the alternation of ascent, descent, and level ground. At 
the top and bottom of each hill are several taverns, at 
which the horses may rest and their masters ^ take a 
horn ;’ but more of these establishments are at the foot 
than at the summit, as it is the custom of the ‘ fast 


24 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


crabs’ to make a brush down the hill after ascending it 
leisurely. Besides the taverns, the only houses along 
the road are blacksmiths’ and coachmakers’, so that if 
you break a tire or lose a shoe you may be set to rights 
on the spot. The Avenue is wide, and in good order. 
The middle of it is macadamised, the sides are left in 
soft earth for the benefit of the trotters whose feet 
would be broken to pieces by bard pavement at their 
rate of going. These distinctions are now, of course, 
obliterated by the snow. 

From three till dark the fast horses and fast men are 
in their glory here. It is too early for them yet, as 
Schuyler said ; there are only family or omnibus sleighs 
out, so Charlie keeps on at one steady pace, without 
pulling very much, as there is nothing alongside to 
worry him. In fifteen minutes they are at Yorkville, a 
small and not over-clean suburb, inhabited chiefly by 
Irish, and here there are more taverns than ever. 
Masters does not stop at any ; his horse needs no rest, 
and it is not altogether comme il faut to do so : but he 
has a word to say about some of them in passing. 

^ Wintergreen’s is clearly the pet stopping-plaee* now,’ 
he observes, glancing towards a white house on the 
highest ground in Yorkville. The long, low, white 
shed near it is tenanted, even at this early hour, by 
twenty or more cutters, whose owners are tippling in- 
side. 

‘ A queer fellow Wintergreen is, too ! When sober 
(those are the mornings when he comes to sell you a 
horse) he behaves like a gentleman, and if he were put 
into a decent suit might almost pass for one. When 
drunk, which he is invariably at night, and frequently at 
noon, he is the beastliest of buffoons, and the fancy men 
use him for their court-jester. His father was rich once ; 


THIRD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 25 


he had money himself and good prospects when a youth, 
and might have done well.’ 

‘Yes,’ says Schuyler, with an ironical smile, ‘he 
might have gone through college, travelled in Europe, 
learned the polka, and been one of us.’ 

There are two miles more to Harlaem Bridge, but 
Masters suddenly determines to go back. Perhaps his 
fingers are a little cold. ‘ Let us turn here,’ and round 
sweeps the sleigh. Charlie begins to bear on the bit. 
Masters is far from dreaming now. All his energies are 
concentrated on his horse, who is a handful on the home- 
road. 

‘ Now we shall see them to the best advantage as 
they meet us.’ 

‘ I must confess I should like one race, just to beat* 
something before going in. I’m sure your horse is faster 
than you think him.’ 

‘Well, if anything comes along to give us a fair 
chance we will have a race. See, here comes a batch 
from the city already, all doing their best to be first at 
AYintergreen’s.’ 

Here they come, sure enough ! First advances an 
old black pacer, that looks only fit for the crows : he is 
so fine-drawn as to appear all skin and bones, and steams 
like a limekiln ; but he has come down the last hill at a 
2^ 40''' stroke, and is going as well now if he can only 
keep it up a few seconds longer. What a pace it is ! not 
like trotting in the least, nor yet like running — more a 
scramble than anything else. His feet rise two on the 
same side at once ; sometimes all four are off the ground 
together, and he rocks till you fear he will roll over lat- 
erally. He tears along behind him a sleigh of the com- 
monest construction, a mere deal box on runners, fur- 
nished with an ancient and fragmentary buffalo, which 


26 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


serves for robe and cushion both. The driver is ^ one 
of ’em/ a young butcher probably, in glazed leather 
cap and pea-jacket, despising gloves, yelling frantically 
to his animal, and putting on the string unsparingly, 
while he holds him up as if for life with his left hand. 
Close in the rear comes a beautiful clipped chestnut, a 
fair square trotter, driven in a handsome cutter by a 
fashionably-dressed j^outh. The young gentleman can- 
not be much above twenty, but he holds the ribands as 
carefully as an experienced jockey, and like a gentleman 
too-^no recourse to the whip, no screaming at his horse, 
but a perfect management of his mouth, so as to get his 
full speed out of him without risk of a break. His nag 
has less foot for a brush than the pacer, therefore he is 
behind ; but more strength and endurance, therefore he 
sticks to him, and hopes to catch him. About two lengths 
behind come an old gentleman and his negro servant, 
with a fine team of bays. They are large and handsome 
enough for carriage-horses, matched exactly, and go ^ to 
the pole,’ i, e. together in 3^ 25" — in fact they are going at 
that rate now. Down the hills they fall behind the sin- 
-gle horses, but up-hill, where the weight tells, a team has 
the best of it. and accordingly you see them gaining now. 
The old fellow, who is as ardent for the sport as a boy, 
knows this well, and keeps them up to their work. The 
team gains on the chestnut, the chestnut on the black : 
they are not more than three lengths from the tavern. 
Suddenly the pacer stops short and capers. He is used 
up, and has ‘ broken.’ The chestnut glides by like an 
arrow, and being none too fresh himself, escapes further 
pursuit of the team by slipping triumphantly under 
Wintergreen’s shed, whither the discomfited black follows 
him ; while the big bays keep their way up the road, and 
after them trail two men with a grey horse, who, though 


THIKD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 27 


visibly tailed off, still persist in a fruitless attempt to 
overtake the gallant pair. 

* There goes twelve hundred cash,’ says Schuyler, as 
he glances back at the receding trotters. ‘ But it’s a 
good team, and well worth the money if a man has it.’ 

‘ I mean to treat myself to a team whenever I can 
pick one up at a fair valuation — when some one breaks 
or goes abroad, and wants to sell his horses. But I don’t 
mean to trust myself in a jockey’s hands again. I have 
had to do with the fraternity three times already, and 
come off tolerably well. Fortune is not to be tempted 
too often.’ 

^ You have no reason to quarrel with your last pur- 
chase. He goes prettily, and keeps it up well. Does he 
pull much V 

‘Not as trotters go; but he requires a tight rein. 
Hallo ! Wo-o, Charlie !’ 

The horse has made a leap that jerks both the occu- 
pants of the sleigh nearly out of it, and would be off in 
a run but for the ready hand of his driver. At the same 
moment a large brown mare rushes by with the least 
possible quantity of harness on her, a shadowy sleigh 
behind her, and a little black-eyed, fur-capped man in 
it. Though Charlie is stepping off at least fourteen 
miles an hour, he is left behind in an instant as if stand- 
ing still. 

‘ There’s a fast one ! Can you catch him V 

‘ I should be sorry to try it with the double weight we 
have, and the start he has. Even if I were ten seconds 
in the mile faster than he is, I could not overhaul him 
before he gets to Sparks’.’ 

‘ True ; he will stop at the Four-mile-House, no 
doubt. His pace is too good to last. I didn’t think of that.’ 

About a minute and a-half passes in silence. Schuyler 


28 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


not wishing to be caught again without notice, has rous- 
ed himself from his recumbent attitude, and keeps a good 
look-out behind. Masters is wholly occupied with his 
horse, who grows more eager as he approaches home. 
They are near the Four-mile-House, when two common- 
looking men in a common-looking sleigh, with a long-leg- 
ged roan pacer, emerge from the shed some hundred 
yards in front, and dart off at full speed. 

•Now for it,’ says Masters : ‘we’ll try those fellows.’ 

‘ Do you think you can have them ? Their horse is 
going very fast.’ 

‘ You never can tell how fast a pacer goes till you are 
alongside of him. There is no stopping-place between 
this and town : they must go to the stones, or where the 
stones should be, and that’s a mile and a half, and Charlie 
will outlast them that distance if they outfoot him at 
first. Gr’lang, old fellow.’ 

While thus delivering himself of his opinion. Masters 
has been making hasty preparation for the trial. Taking 
an equal hold of the reins at that point where he can best 
apply his whole weight and power to them, he twists one 
round each hand to prevent their slipping ; then bracing 
his feet against a little iron bar that runs inside the 
swelling dashboard (for they would go right through the 
leather), he throws himself back on the lines simultane- 
ously with the ‘ g’lang’ that starts his horse. The ever- 
ready beast leaps off as if his run were arrested midway 
and turned into a trot ; at every step his hind legs are 
lifted quicker and tucked further under him, and his 
fore feet rise higher from the ground as he darts down 
the slight descent before him at a three-minute velocity. 
The reins are so tight that you might stand upon them ; 
Masters is nearly standing behind them, for as he neither 
will nor can give an inch (his arms being already stretch- 


THIRD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 29 


ed straight out and the reins secured by the twists in 
them), the pull all but lifts him to his feet. So rapid is 
the brush that they are soon close upon the other sleigh, 
and Schuyler can distinguish that its occupants are 
of not-to-be-mistaken Bowery cut — veritable ‘ b’hoys.’ 
Charlie is just lapping their sleigh when the driver breaks 
out with an unearthly yell, which has the double effect 
of stimulating his own horse and frightening the other. 
The next moment Charlie is dancing in the air, and the 
old roan racker glides away as if by very magic, skim- 
ming over the snow like a bird, and looking ready to 
shake himself out of his ancient and scanty harness. 

‘Wo-o, Charlie! What y’ about? Ho-o, poor fel- 
low I’ and Masters hauls his horse first to one side of the 
road and then to the other, in vain efibrts to make him 
catch his trot. Charlie throws his head up and jerks it 
down, and keeps cantering for ten seconds in spite of all 
that can be done, till at last, just as they reach level 
ground, he strikes his true gait with a bound like a hun- 
ter’s, and is off faster than ever. If the road continued 
to descend there would be little chance of closing the 
gap ; but it now rises for a quarter of a mile, and a trot- 
ter generally climbs better than a pacer. This is what 
Masters depends on, and accordingly he drives as if for 
a fortune to come up with the racker before the road 
dips again. Now he eases out his horse the least bit by 
bending slightly forward ; now he lifts him with the 
rein, and again holds on with all his might to keep him 
from breaking ; now he stimulates him with a gentle 
chirrup, and now sends at him a prolonged growl, such as 
trotters and the drivers of trotters delight in. Mean- 
while he carefully scans the road a-head, so as to avoid 
every inequality a^id keep on a smooth and even surface, 
nearly, but not quite, in the middle of the road, where 


80 


SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


the snow is neither so much worn down as to make it 
hard running for the sleigh, nor so deep as to clog the 
horse’s feet. Schuyler sits motionless and breathless, 
watching the rapidly diminishing interval between the 
sleighs. Masters’ calculation proves true. Before the 
ascent is completed, the gap of eight or ten lengths has 
been shut to within one and a half Charlie’s head is in a 
parallel line with the pendant buffalo of the Bowery 
sleigh, and not more than three feet behind it. The bro- 
ker’s excitement overpowers him. His long body and 
sharp nose reach over like those of a cockswain when he 
bobs to the stroke, and his eyes flash with eagerness. 

‘Now hold him. Masters, hold him ! Don’t let him 
break ; don’t, for God’s sake ! Shall I drive V 

‘ Teach your grandmother !’ 

Masters is comparatively cool ; he feels sure of catch- 
ing them before the descent, and then he means to wait 
on them down till he can tire out or break up the racker. 
And now the b’hoy, finding himself overhauled, emits 
another hideous screech, and lays the string about fear- 
fully. But either he has been premature in his manoeu- 
vre, or Harry is better prepared for it this time : the 
only effect of all the row is to help Charlie on. Three 
of his bounding steps, — with the first he laps the other 
sleigh, with the second he is alongside the roan, and the 
third puts his belly on a line with the pacer’s nose. He 
is a neck and shoulders a-head and going his very best. 

‘ Hi-i-i ! G’lang ! He-e-e-eh !’ shout both the Bowery 
boys at once, and slash goes the long whip again. All 
they can accomplish by this demonstration is to fetch 
their horse up even with Charlie, who has lost a little 
ground by swerving to the right to avoid an omnibus 
that takes up half the road. This m(Tvement brings the 
sleighs so close that they almost touch, and thus they go 


THIKD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 81 


down the hill at the rate of eighteen miles an hour, lock- 
ed like a double team. The h’hoy is pouring out a stream 
of yells at his horse, and Masters is holding on to his as 
a man holds on for his life. The pacer, black with sweat 
and dropping foam from his mouth, scrambles along with 
his head down like a lame cat, Charlie’s glossy flanks are 
marked with a dark streak here and there, and a few 
beads of white hang about his mouth ; he trots fair and 
square still, with his head well up and his legs striking 
out regularly as a steam-engine. The contest will be de- 
cided by this hill, for neither horse is fresh enough to 
make up a gap in the preceding half mile of level ground 
which brings them to the city. It is safe betting on the 
trotter if his temper and his owner’s arms only hold out, 
for he goes better at every step, while his opponent flags 
visibly. See, Harry is a head and shoulders in advance 
again — all that he wishes to be at present, so he keeps 
his horse well in hand with a hard, steady pull. They 
are half way down and the momentum of the descent is 
at its maximum when the b’hoy makes his last effort. 
Whip, voice, and rein are combined in one final push 
and, aided by the ground, he absolutely shoves his horse 
once more even with Charlie. At this critical instant 
Masters feels the pull slacken a little — very little, but 
enough, combined with his keen eye for pace, to tell him 
that his horse is coming back to him. 

^ He-e-eh ! Why, Charlie, are you going to leave your 
master, old fellow? He-e-eh ! steady, boy ! g’lang!’ The 
lines are drawn tight as a bowstring ; Charlie’s neck 
goes out and his head down as he reaches away in his 
bounding trot, and gains half a length on the enemy at 
two steps. 

‘ Steady, boy ! so-o ! Gr’lang now !’ 

‘ He-e-e-eh ! Gr-r-r ! G’lang, you beggar !’ 


82 


SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


^ Take care, Masters, take care! ^Now you have 
’em I Hurrah I’ 

Splut 1 There is a great scattering of snow. The 
racker has broken short up, and fairly disappeared in a 
cloud of his own raising. 

For a hundred yards or more the tratter sweeps on 
triumphantly at the top of his speed. Then his owner 
draws him in very carefully, it being nearly as nice a 
matter to diminish as to increase the velocity of a fast 
horse, since the least jerk or sudden check will break 
him. More by the voice than the reins he is sobered 
down to his wonted pace of twelve miles an hour, at 
which the sleigh continues to slide on merrily, and our 
friends have a little leisure to look about them. They 
are passing the Three-mile House, once a tavern on the 
road, but now less than half a mile from the pavement. 
It is past three, and every one is going out. The road 
is beginning to be thronged. 

‘ What a lot of them I’ says Masters. ‘ There is Hen- 
derson with his clipped bays, not so fast for a brush, but 
equal to anything for three miles. And there is Black 
Modesty — good for 2^ 38". They call her Modesty be- 
cause she travels with her head down. And there is 
Lowenberg, with four white horses.’ 

And the fiery little foreigner dashes by with two dash- 
ing Creole-looking women in his sleigh, and a neat groom, 
dangerously like himself, on the driving-seat alongside 
him. 

^ There goes the horse of horses, Jim Polk. His 
owner told me, that just before this' snow came on he 
paced half a mile in fifty-nine seconds.’ 

‘ He ought to repeat that in public, then, for his best 
mile time on record is 2' 23". But I wouldn’t have 
him for a gift, unless I wanted to meet with what the 


THIRD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 83 


newspapers call the ‘ painful accident’ of getting my 
neck broke.’ 

Masters cast one look at Hhe fastest pacer in the 
world.’ Polk is a middle-sized chestnut, with a flowing 
tail and mane, handsome enough for a lady’s horse, and 
with power written in every muscle. He is pouring 
foam from a desire to g^t ofi*, and his owner’s efforts to 
restrain him. And then Harry turns round and starts 
off his horse once more, for his old enemy, the roan, is 
creeping up behind, and trying to steal a march on him. 
But it’s no use. Charlie has lost his superfluous fire ; he 
can be held with one hand, and will take the whip. 
Masters puts it on him — three light strokes — and at 
every one he doubles himself up faster and throws more 
road behind him. By a great effort the pacer has put 
himself close behind Masters’ sleigh, so that he is almost 
looking over Schuyler’s head ; but not another inch can 
he better his position, nor can he hold it more than a 
few moments. There is no more left in him, and he 
falls back exhausted, and is pulled up to a walk. And 
now as Harry for the second time eases down his horse, 
another four-horse sleigh meets them. It cuts more 
dash than Lowenberg’s — richer furs, showier livery, finer 
horses, more paint and gilding. The team are greys 
and chestnuts {sorrels they are called in America), driven 
chequered ; that is, the horses of the same colour diagon- 
ally. Highly polished steel chains take the place of 
martingale and polestrap ; and the rest of the harness, 
except the collars and traces, is made of white silk cord. 
Within are two men and two women, elaborately dressed ; 
but they are not of ‘ our set,’ or any set that Masters 
knows. 

^ Schujler, whose team is that % Some rowdy’s, I per- 
ceive.’ 


84 


SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


It shows you are a virtuous youth to ask such a 
question. You know all the proper celebrities, and none 
of the improper ones. That is Mary Black, who keeps 
the greatest flash-house in Leonard Street.’ 

^ That vile woman ! I thought she was in prison.’ 

‘ So she was, and got out again on some technicality.’ 

[They did ^ quod ’ the woman permanently some 
months after ; hut it was only accomplished at great 
trouble and expense to the city, and Schuyler has al- 
ready seen so many rogues go unwhipt of justice, that 
he may he pardoned a little scepticism.] 

‘ Doubtless there are several causes of this mal- 
adminstration, or non-administration of the laws, hut 
one is particularly obvious. I consider the Anti-Capital- 
Punishment agitators — Whitey, Carroll, and that set 
— directly responsible for half the rascality in this city 
and state. Their arguments, though nominally directed 
at the death penalty merely, really aim at all penalties, 
create a morbid sympathy for all criminals, and resolve 
all crimes into disease or insanity, according to phrenol- 
ogy or some other of their hobbies, which they have 
dignified with the name of sciences.’ 

‘Yes; and these scamps aim at all the property in 
the country, and want to resolve it into their own 
pockets. And that is why I think the Jacobin a 
worse paper than the Sewer ^ though the former preserves 
a decent exterior of language. It has been the great 
abettor of the Anti-Benters throughout.’ 

‘ Does it preserve a decent exterior of language ? 
Is not Whitey an avowed Fourierite and Communist? 
and are not his contributors following suit?’ 

‘ But you don’t know Whitey’s excuse ?’ 

‘ No.’ 

‘ He is the most henpecked and curtain-lectured of 


THIBD AVENUE IN SLEIGHING TIME. 35 


men, and therefore goes in for Fourier’s plan, hoping 
that, in the general distribution of women and goods, 
some one else may get Mrs. Whitey.’ 

precious fellow, too, that correspondent of his, 
who has just been writing some city sketches — ^ Bits of 
Gotham,’ he calls them. They are all constructed on 
this pleasant and easy syllogism, — ‘ Some men in good 
society are hypocrites ; therefore all respectable people 
are scamps.’ To read this vagabond, ^ stranger would 
believe that our fashionable ladies were in the daily habit 
of making assignations at confectioners, and that all our 
church deacons and trustees lived upon the wages of in- 
iquity, sanctioned, if not practised, by themselves. A 
pretty storm there would be if any foreigner dared to 
talk so ; but this pestilent fellow, it seems, may slander 
his countrymen and countrywomen with impunity and 
profit ! Did you ever hear of this man Goldsmith — P. 
P. Goldsmith, Esquire^ as he calls himself?’ 

^ No ; but I believe he was cut or snubbed by some 
gentleman with whom he was trying to scrape acquaint- 
ance, and hence his hatred and abuse of the ‘ Upper 
Ten.’ ’ 

‘As to Carrol, one understands him well enough. 
Est proprium humani generis^ and so forth. A benevo- 
lent Whig merchant took him up when a poor boy, 
educated him, and gave him a fair start in life. Of 
course he became a violent Democrat, intensely hostile 
to all Whigs,* and all paerchants. His descent tells 
there. It’s a real specimen of Irish gratitude.’ 

Masters remains half sulky, half pensive. They 
sweep down the Avenue into the broad Bowery, and 


* The AmericaD Whigs are Conservatives^ except some of those 
in New York. 


36 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


through Lafayette Place again. Masters likes to drive 
past Lafayette Place., for he owns a house there, and it 
gives him a chance to talk about ^ my house,’ and ^ my 
tenant.’ They are in Broadway again. 

‘Won’t you come and dine with us, Schuyler? Pour 
sharp. The grand-governor is ill, and I have the cellar 
key and the butcher’s book. There is a bottle of Cordon 
Blue in ice ; our cook makes good oyster soup ; smelts 
are prime now ; and I laid in a tall Philadelphia capon 
this morning. Come !’ 


37 


CHAPTER 11. 

A WEDDING ‘ABOVE BLEECKER.’ 

T he first thing, as a general rule, that a young Groth- 
amite* does is to get a horse ; the second, to get a 
wife. Having, therefore, seen Henry Masters on the 
road, it naturally follows in order that we should go to 
see him married. 

A fashionable marriage is an event to honour which 
all nature and all art are expected to put on their best 
face, and present themselves in their brightest colours. 
You go to such a wedding prepared to see the nicest kind 
of people under the most favourable circumstances. 
Accordingly, whereas in my last we found it necessary 
to mention Bowery Boys and newspaper editors, and 
various other low characters, not to speak of our friend 
Tibbets Schuyler, who is decidedly ‘ second set,’ I shall, 
on the present occasion, introduce you to none but the 
real respectable, fashionable, exquisite part of New York 
society, the very cream of the cream ; and if you find 
them very slow, it isn’t my fault. I have an idea that 
fashionable people are stupid all over the world, even 
when they are fastest. 


* The appellation of Gotham was first given to New York by 
Washington Irving in his earliest work, Salmagundi^ evidently 
alluding to the singular wisdom of the inhabitants ; and the city is 
now familiarly known throughout America by this name; just as 
Boston, for less evident reasons, is generally called the American 
Athens. 


3 


88 SKETCHES OF AMEEICAH SOCIETY. 

It is mid-winter still, and there is snow on the 
ground ; hiit the sleighing is not so good as it was, and 
the state of the streets admits ‘ wheeling.’ Wheeling 
Masters is, not in the ancient olive chariot which he usu- 
ally does his grandfather the honour to borrow when go- 
ing out, for to-night the old gentleman is going out him- 
self ; but in the neat claret brougham of his first grooms- 
man, Philip Yan Horne, under whose auspices and com- 
fort he is about to go through an awful ceremony at eight 
p. M. ; that is to say. in about twenty-five minutes from 
the present time. 

It is the ceremony of matrimony. 

Henry was an orphan. This condition is in most 
parts of the world supposed to render a young man an 
object of pity and compassion ; but in America it is 
deemed peculiarly desirable, as it puts him into posses- 
sion of his fortune immediately on attaining his majority, 
and relieves him from even the semblance of authorita- 
tive interference with his movements after that epoch. 
So far as he can be said to have any home (for he has 
been very much in a state of transit and travel for the 
last four years, ever since he graduated at Columbia 
College), he lives with his maternal grandfather, Mr. 
Backus, in New York, during the winter, and at his 
brother Carl’s country-seat on the Hudson in summer. 
When a young man of independent means is thus afloat 
on the world, his friends think it desirable to get him 
married as soon as possible, for the same reason that a 
boy is often sent to school — to keep him out of mischief 
So when Henry came back from the Bhine one spring 
and in the natural course of things was expected at 
Bavenswood (which, by the way, had never had a raven 
within ten miles of it), Carl took care to have proper re- 
lays of young ladies provided on visits of a week or a 


A WEDDING ‘ABOVE BLEECKER.’ 


39 


fortnight each, ostensibly as company to Miss Masters, 
who had come out last winter': but it was known perfect- 
ly by all the dear creatures who came that Carl Masters 
had a brother to dispose of Three damsels came suc- 
cessively, and walked and sailed, and rode and drove, 
and went through all the proper business with Henry, 
the accompanying papas or mammas and Mr. and Mrs. 
Carl always taking care- to keep at a respectful distance. 
And the three damsels departed successively, but not 
successfully, so far as the impression on either side was 
concerned. But when the fourth came, Harry finding 
her an undeniable beauty, and clever to boot, and know- 
ing that she was an heiress to some extent, and that 
there was no mother-in-law, (an immense point), very 
speedily ^ concluded to invest,’ as Tibbets Schuyler would 
have phrased it, in case the young lady accorded. And, 
somehow or other, Clara Vanderlyn also came to the 
conclusion that Henry Masters was rich enough and 
handsome enough for her, and that he was a very proper 
and virtuous young man, and had a positive reputation 
for literary attainments. Not that she valued the last 
for its own sake, since she seldom read anything more 
profound than a novel, but she esteemed it as helping to 
give a man eclat ; and, on the whole, decided that he was 
a very eligible match. Perhaps her decision was accel- 
erated by the information conveyed in a letter from a 
friend at Oldport Springs, that her contemporary and 
rival belle^ Miss Be Lancey, had been cutting a great 
dash there, and was positively engaged to a rich Bos- 
tonian. Soon the young people began to look very un- 
derstandingly at each other, and to make those mutual 
confidences of the eyes which express so much more than 
can be said in words ; and the Yanderl3ms were easily 
persuaded to stay another week ; and it was hinted very 


40 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


early in the fall* that there was something between Mr. 
Masters and Miss Vanderlyn ; and as soon as they re- 
turned to the city, attentive friends kept asking them 
and their relatives ^ if they were not engaged and when 
at last one fine day in the Indian summer (a delightful 
appendix to the warm weather which the northern states 
enjoy in November), the two were seen walking arm- 
and-arm down Broadway, nobody was the least surprised 
at it. 

Harry is to be married, then, to-night, and he is go- 
ing for that purpose — to church % No, to the house of 
his father-in-law. 

Mr. Yanderlyn’s house is distant from that of old 
Backus about half a mile north-westerly, and situated on 
the corner of one of the long, broad avenues, that inter- 
sect the upper part of the city longitudinally, and one of 
the widest of the numerous cross streets which in this 
quarter are wide and narrow in the proportion of about 
one to eight. The corner is a favorite situation. lYhy 
should it be thought desirable to have the dust and noise 
of two streets instead of one? A Frenchman or G-erman 
disposed to theorize on local peculiarities would say it 
was owing to the business habits of the New Yorkers ; 
that a ^ corner lot’ being more valuable for a shop or a 
warehouse, thus came by force of association to be con- 
sidered equally so for a private dwelling. But there is 
a more natural and very appreciable reason for the pre- 
ference. As the houses are built close against each 
other, with the main rooms three-deep on a floor, the 
middle room of the three in each story is dark, having 
no means of illumination from without, except when the 


* An American rarely says autumn or autumnal,^ but uses the 
more poetic word, both as adjective and substantive. 


A WEDDING *AB(?VE BLEECKEEJ 


41 


position of the house at a corner affords a side light. 
The street on which one side of Mr. Vanderlyn’s dwell- 
ing stands is a fashionably-built and inhabited street, 
and the avenue on which it fronts is the fashionable ave- 
nue. Three streets to the east there is one fully as broad 
and convenient, and two streets to the west another ; but 
that on the east is decidedly second-rate in point of 
fashion, and that on the west literally nowhere, there not 
being a house belonging to ^ any of us’ in it. The gen- 
eral course of fashion has been necessarily northward 
(as the city, built on a narrow island, cannot expand lat- 
erally) with a slight inclination westward. But many 
accidents help to make a particular quarter fashionable. 
In the present instance, Yanderlyn and two or three of 
his friends happening to own land here, built on it, and 
were influential enough to draw other friends round 
them, and give a name and reputation to the avenue. 
Similar attempts are continually made, and frequently 
without success. The upper part of the city is dotted 
over with little spots, which have tried to be fashionable 
places and couldn’t be. This is particularly the case with 
the portion ‘ above Bleecker Street,’ which street is fa- 
miliarly taken, though not with strict correctness, as a 
boundary between the business and pleasure quarters of 
the town. 

The house is built of brick ; not, hpwever, the flaring 
vermilion, with each individual brick picked out in white- 
lead, which disfigures a great part of New York (though 
it is not quite all red brick like Philadelphia), but a dark 
brown, nearly corresponding in colour to the thin veneer- 
ing, as it were, of stone, which covers the front on the 
avenue. This same stone front presents rather an im- 
posing appearance when you are right before it, but seen 
together with the brick gable on the street it exhibits a 


42 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


contrast of material which, notwithstanding the similarity 
of the colour, is far from agreeble to the eye. Old Yan- 
derlyn is a man of taste ; considerations either of econ- 
omy or of conformity to the popular want of taste must 
have led him to adopt this common incongruity. 

Masters and Yan Horne are ascending the steps. Let 
us go in with them, and you will see an average house of 
the first class, not such a one as a millionaire occasion- 
ally half ruins himself by building and furnishing to 
make a new lion for the town ; but a fair type of a New 
York gentleman’s house, equal to the majority of those 
at which you will visit or dance during a season. It has 
been hinted more than once that land in fashionable lo- 
calities is expensive, and the Gothamites, when they 
build, are consequently economical of ground. A ^ot’ 
of the ordinary size is twenty-five feet front by a hun- 
dred deep. The desire to make one’s house a little su- 
perior to the ordinary standard has caused many of the 
lots in the newer and more fashionable streets to be ar- 
ranged, wherever the size of the ‘ blocks’* would admit 
it, with fronts of twenty-six or twenty-seven feet. It will 
be evident that such a width allows only one front room 
alongside of the not very wide hall ; the house can only 
be extended perpendicularly and longitudinally. 

Thus Mr. Yanderlyn’s twenty-six feet are carried up 
into four pretty tall stories, and back over nearly seventy 
feet of the hundred which the lot contains, leaving the 
smallest possible quantity of yard, but allowing three 
rooms en suite on each floor. One inconvenience of this 
arrangement is, that either your hall shrinks into very 
small dimensions — becomes, in fact, merely two landing- 


* A htocTc is the front space of one street between two others 
from corner to corner. 


A WEDDING * ABOVE BLEECKER.’ 


43 


places — or you must dispense with a private staircase 
altogether. Mr. Yanderlyn has chosen the latter alter- 
native, and up and down a single steep and narrow flight 
of stairs, whenever the Yanderlyns give a party, every 
one has to tramp on entering and retiring, for all the 
cloaking and uncloaking must be done in the bedrooms, 
as there is no place for it elsewhere. Yery inconvenient, 
you will say ; but use is second nature, and the New- 
Yorkers are so used to this climbing and swarming on 
the' stairs, that even in a double house^ or a house and a 
half^ or a basement house^ three different styles which 
would all admit of cloaking-rooms on the lower floor, no 
one ever thinks of having them there. 

Masters is now to become an inmate of the house 
where he has been so often of late a guest, for it is the 
invariable custom that the young couple shall reside with 
the bride’s father for the first four or six months. In- 
deed he may already be said to have taken up his quar- 
ters there. This morning his valet came round ; for 
Harry has just set up a valet, a sort of English-Irish- 
man, who makes it his principal business to quarrel with 
all the other servants wherever he is ; and this impor- 
tant personage brought over various preliminary instal- 
ments of Mr. Masters — seven coats and twelve pair of 
trousers, and about thirty waistcoats, no end of linen, 
and carpet bags full of boots, a gorgeous dressing-gown, 
and Turkish slippers, and smoking-cap, and cigars nume- 
rous, and all sorts of paraphernalia generally, until the 
little dressing-room adjoining the nuptial chamber is 
overflowing with foppery. And now as the happy man 
pauses on the second flight of stairs, he cannot help cast- 
ing a glance at the door of the front room on the second 
story, for he hears the flutter of female voices and dress- 
es, and knows that his bride is there. Yes, in that 


44 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


room she is contemplating herself before a pier-glass 
with her six bridemaids hovering around her, and mak- 
ing the last suggestions and arrangements about her^ 
dress. 

Clara Vanderlyn, or Clara Masters we may call her 
now without much anticipation, is a New- York belle and 
beauty. The terms are not by any means synonymous, 
though in her case both attractions happen to be united. 
But when I speak of her as a beauty, you must dismiss 
all ideas of voluptuousness, commanding figure, Juno 
mien, and the like, and summon up all such associations 
as you have been accustomed to connect with the words 
sylph and fairy. You could not call her a ‘ fine ’ or a 
‘ striking ’ woman, for she stands about five feet one, and 
weighs probably less than a hundred pounds ; but you 
must own that she is a very lovely one. Her complex- 
ion is a pure blonde, the most exquisite combination of 
red and white ; and her hair, that ' brown in the shadow 
and gold in the sun,’ which poets love to rave of, and 
painters are always trying to paint. Her features are 
delicate and regular; her nose very slightly aquiline, 
with her thin blood-horse nostril, which is supposed to be 
aristocratic; her throat and chin beautifully rounded; 
her mouth small and tempting, yet with an expression of 
firmness at the corners, which to the close observer de- 
notes no want of spirit ; her eyes are the clearest blue, 
neither large nor languishing — they might not attract 
much attention by themselves, but are marvellously suit- 
ed to the rest of her face, and give the signal for the in- 
efiable smiles which, whenever she is thoroughly pleased, 
sparkle out suddenly over her whole countenance, and 
light up those beautiful and expressive features until 

A man had given all other bliss, 

And all his worldly worth for this, 


A WEDDING ‘ABOVE BLEECKEE.’ 


45 


To waste liis whole heart in one kiss 
Upon her perfect lips. 

As to her dress, it is all white, of course, a delicate 
wreath of orange blossoms (white roses are trying to any 
woman, but especially to a small woman), a profusion of 
the finest lace — but no ornaments of any kind. What 
jewelry she has — and it is not a great deal — is displayed 
on a table in the little cedar-closeted passage that serves 
her for a dressing-room, along with all the handkerchiefs 
and fans, and small articles of plate, and various knick- 
knacks that she has received from her friends and rela- 
tions ; and they will all be inspected to-night by the cu- 
rious ladies, who take advantage of such an opportunity 
to criticise everything in the house, from the new chan- 
deliers to the bride’s nightcap. 

All this we see by dur privilege. Harry sees nothing 
of it as yet. He passes on to the third story front-room, 
enters the open door with Yan Horne close at his heels, 
and finds himself in the presence of a large bowl of 
punch and his second groomsman and first cousin Grerard 
Ludlow. There are plenty of mirrors and candles 
about, and a great display of toilet apparatus, in case 
the young men need to complete their Adonisation. 

You couldn’t do much more to the bridegroom, for he 
is got up to kill. His mulberry-blue coat, resplendent 
with gilt buttons, and white satin skirt lining, fits him 
as if he had been moulded and cast into it. His white 
watered-satin waistcoat, which descends about three in- 
ches lower than if it were the work of an English tailor, 
is set off by a heavy gold chain, streaming down from a 
little watch-pocket under his left arm to the lowest but- 
ton-hole, into which it hooks. Surely he has appropriat- 
ed some of what should be his wife’s jewelry, for in that 
very embroidered cambric shirt of his sparkle three 
3 * 


46 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


splendid diamonds set in dark blue enamel. He must 
have stolen a bit of her lace to finish off that fiourishing 
white tie, His pantaloons are a triumph of art, and his 
supernaturallj fitting boots are — not patent leather, but 
(a wrinkle worth noting) thin French calf carefully var- 
nished afresh from day to day. He has pulled off one 
glove, and is playing with it to show his little white hand 
and a fine sapphire which he has had cut into a seal 
ring. 

Grand as he is, Ludlow is a touch above him. He 
has a grander tie, more embroidery, larger diamond 
studs, and for watch-chain an enamelled snake, with a 
head of opals and rubies. But Gerard is a magnificent 
fellow, and can carry off any amount of dress. If there 
were only some ornamental service, like the Guards, in 
New York, he would become it grandly ; having no such 
resource, he drives stylish equipages (belonging to other 
people), gives and goes to recherche little dinners, and 
dances the polka and redowa in the intervals ; by which 
contrivances he manages to pass his time agreeably and 
ornamentally. He is two years younger than Henry : 
though not precisely of like tastes, they are much attach- 
ed to each other ; indeed the only thing which ever 
alloys the good feeling between them is a slight family 
likeness sometimes remarked by strangers, to the an- 
noyance of both. For Gerard, who is nearly half-a-foot 
taller than Harry, thinks himself, at least groportion- 
ably handsomer, which he is ; and Harry thinks that he 
knows three times as much as Gerard, and shows it in 
his face, which he does : so neither of them is fiattered 
by the resemblance. By the way, did you ever know 
two persons who were ? Gerard’s father allows him 
twenty-five-hundred a-year (dollars^ always remember), 
and he lives at^ the rate of eight thousand, partly by 


A WEDDING ‘ABOVE BLEECKEK.’ 


47 


tick, partly on his brothers and acquaintances ; for he 
is so generous, affable, and altogether so gentlemanly a 
fellow, that it is a pleasure to oblige him ; and some day 
he will be a rich man and repay all hospitalities and 
kindness with interest. Moreover, it should be mentioned 
in justice to him, that, with all his luxurious and spend- 
thrift habits, he is free from any vicious propensity, 
drinks moderately, eschews gambling, and has no female 
acquaintance whom he would be ashamed to acknowledge 
before ladies. 

And now it would not be respectful to postpone any 
longer our mention of Phil Yan Horne, the oldest and 
richest of the groomsmen. A genuine Knickerbocker 
from the start, in the enjoyment of hereditary wealth, 
and fortunately without any turn for dissipation, he be- 
gan by educating himself thoroughly, according to the 
American notion of the thing, — that is to say, he learned 
a little of everything. He studied law for six months 
after leaving college, and attended medical lectures for a 
year, and once contributed to a mathematical journal. 
He is an amateur performer on two or three instruments, 
and sketches rather prettily, and has mastered the com- 
mon-places of three or four modern languages. But all 
these accomplishments being grafted upon a certain na- 
tive Dutch solidity, he is by no means forward to display 
them, and will always let the rest of the compan}’- do the 
talking, unless you take considerable trouble to stir him 
up and put him through his paces. Perhaps it is this 
same disposition which has caused him to remain a bach- 
elor till the mature age of thirty, though greatly sought 
after for his wealth, and connections, and abilities, and good 
habits (the money first and the virtue last : I believe we 
have enumerated the desirable qualities in their proper 
order). He is now an inveterate groomsman, having as- 


48 


SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


sisted at half-a-dozen similar occasions within the last 
three years ; indeed, it is considered quite the thing to 
call on Phil for his services, for he is tall and good-look- 
ing, and decidedly ornamental, in addition to his other 
merits. 

Here come the other groomsmen, Sedley and Lau- 
rence, Jones, and Robinson. Yery young men they are, 
— boys they would be called elsewhere. Sedley is a 
sucking barrister, sharp, spiteful, and loquacious ; Jones 
makes believe to be clerk to his father, a well-known 
Wall Street broker ; Laurence and Robinson are not long 
out of college, and have not exactly made up their minds 
what they shall be ; their present occupation is chiefly 
dancing the polka. One resemblance you will observe 
in all the six : they have blue coats with gilt buttons, 
and their waistcoats are of the same pattern with Mas- 
ters’, as if he had put them into his livery for the occa- 
sion ; and so he has in a sense, for he gave them coats 
and waistcoats. Methinks this custom is somewhat 
snobbish, and might with propriety be abolished. 

Masters is fldgeting slightly, and looking at his 
watch about once every three seconds ; Ludlow and Sed* 
ley are chaffing him mildly ; the other three are practis- 
ing a polka step, — the natural resource of a young 
Gothamite when he has nothing else to do. A servant 
announces that ‘ the ladies are ready Yan Horne, with 
very serious face, ladles out a full tumbler of punch, and 
hands it over to Harry, who disposes of it rapidly. Then 
they hasten down to the second story, where each man 
picks up his lady on his arm in passing ; and so the party 
of twelve sail down into the middle parlour of the flrst 
floor, — the folding-doors on each side of which are clos- 
ed. In the front parlour both families are attendant, to 
the number of sixty, of all ages ; from old Backus, who 


A WEDDING ^ ABOVE BLEECKEE/ 


49 


never stirs out except to see one of his grandchildren 
married, to the Master Yanderlyns, two promising colle- 
gians of fourteen and sixteen, who look up with intense 
respect to their new brother as a man who has been 
abroad, and owns a fast trotter. As soon as the bridal 
party is arranged in a semicircle, filling up about half 
the room, the folding-doors are thrown open, and the 
company have a very pretty tableau fronting them. Yan 
Horne stands on Masters’ right — it would not do to have 
the stately Gerard too near his less lofty cousin — and 
then the little men taper off down to Robinson, who 
looks hardly older or larger than the elder Master 
Yanderlyn, notwithstanding his white tie. The bride, on 
her part, is admirably surported by her maidens. On 
her left is Miss Masters, a stylish brunette, with a half 
Egyptian head and swimming black eyes : she looks like 
a poetess, but is in reality remarkable for nothing so 
much as her common sense and management. Next her, 
is Miss Alice Yanderlyn, a somewhat larger and coarser 
edition of the bride, very good-natured and lively, and, on 
the whole, excellent belle material, though not a remark- 
able beauty. And then come four more Misses, very 
pretty and proper, whom we will not dwell upon more 
particularly. 

And now advances into the semicircular space be- 
tween the two groups Hr. Mabury, the officiating minis- 
ter. Far son and port is not the alliteration for New 
York, it is Minister and maderia. The doctor presides 
over the most respectable church in the city. Every- 
thing is respectable about it ; the doctor himslf and his 
congregation, and the architect and the organist, and the 
prim, pompous, ponderous (male) pew-opener, even to the 
‘ respectable, aged, indigent females,’ who are among the 
objects of its charity. Such clergymen are apt to love 


50 


SKETJCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


good dinners as well as theology. So say, at any rate, 
the Presbyterian and Methodist preachers, who shun 
wine like poison, and wear long faces, and don’t wear 
black coats ; but, between you and me, I think it’s all 
their spite. I know the doctor to be a very good and 
pious man ; to say that he cannot excite spiritual con- 
cern in a hardened and worldly congregation is only to 
say that he is not a Whitefield or a Wesley. And as to 
the edibles and potables, he might tell you that it was 
flat blasphemy to hold that all the good things of this 
life are sacred to the evil one. 

The marriage service has been completed about five 
minutes, and people are crowding unmeaningly round 
the bride and bridegroom, making them formal congratu- 
lations, when a shrill whistle is heard without, and the 
door-bell rings, and straightway the six groomsmen rush 
out into the hall, for the company are coming. Com- 
pany? What company? Why, my unsophisticated 
reader, only the two families were asked to the wedding ; 
but all the fashionables of New York, some seven hun- 
dred strong, were asked to the reception. And the man- 
ner of the reception is this. As the successive arrivals 
descend from — not their carriages, but the rooms up- 
stairs — the ladies are taken from their gentlemen by the 
groomsmen, and carried up to the bride to be presented 
to Mrs. Masters. A pretty amount of locomotion these 
six young gentlemen have to do for the next two hours, 
and a hard task it is for the bride to stand up all that 
time to be looked at. But she seems to bear it very 
well, and at any rate it is her own fault. Harry wished 
for nothing less than to expose her to this fatigue ; but 
it was all the fashion to have receptions, and she would 
have one. 

At last, just before eleven, the folding-doors of the 


A WEDDING ^ ABOVE BLEECKER.’ 


51 


third parlour are opened, and the young couple wajk in 
to supper. The groomsmen and bridemaids follow in 
order, and then there is a general rush. Let us take a 
bumper of the Yanderlyn madeira and evaporate. The 
glare of these hard polished white walls makes one’s eyes 
ache. We shall not lose sight of Henry and Clara for a 
very long time. Just one week from to-day one of the 
Backuses gives them a dinner-party, and the rest of 
their honeymoon will be a round of invitations. Bather 
soon to appear in public, isn’t it ? But repose is not a 
natural state to an American man, still less to an Ameri- 
can woman. They like to be continually on the move. 


52 


CHAPTER III. 

CATCHING A LION. 

HEN Henry Masters had been married about 



V V four years, the Honourable Edward Ashburner 
came to see him. They had known each other at Heidel- 
berg, where Masters once spent six months, — long enough 
to get some kind of a degree and pick up a good deal of 
German, whether he learned any Latin and Greek or 
not. Ashburner had just taken a first-class at Cam- 
bridge, and was touring with an older Cantab who knew 
Carl Masters ; hence the acquaintance. It was not a 
very long one : the young men were together for part of 
two days ; but in that time they grew very jolly and 
comfortable over sundry bottles of Assmanshauser, and 
Harry gave the Englishman an unlimited and pressing 
invitation to stop with him if he ever crossed the Atlan- 
tic. Then they went their respective ways, and at this 
time Mas-ters had a very dim recollection of who Ash- 
burner was. 

The first intimation he had of his arrival was in this 
wise. After passing nearly the whole day on Long 
Island to eat terrapin soup and spring chickens at 
Snedekor’s, Harry, as he returned via, the city to his 
place in Westchester, on a fine June evening, stopped 
at his town-house in Twenty-eighth Street. There, 
among a little heap of notes, and circulars, and business 
communications — ‘ Sir, Your note for 2500 dollars at 


CATCHING A LION. 


53 


the National Bank will become due on the 10th inst. 
and ^ Dear sir, Your interest will be ready on the 8th, if 
you will call for it at my counting-room’ (• Confound the 
fellow’, muttered Masters, ‘ why can’t he fix a time and 
call here, instead of making me tramp down into the 
Swamp among his skins ?’*) ; and ‘ Sir, You are request- 
ed to attend a meeting of the Central Conservative 
Whig Young Men’s Association next Monday ;’ and so 
forth — he found a small card, with ‘ Mr. Ashburner’ in- 
scribed thereon. He showed it to Mrs. M. that evening. 

‘ English V asked Clara, looking not over-satisfied. 

^ Bather,’ said Harry, betraying no particular emotion 
either way. 

‘ Well, I’m sure I don’t want to see any more Eng- 
lishmen this way for a long while. There was the scien- 
tific gentleman on his travels, who used to come to dinner 
in a fiannel shirt and use our house as if it was an inn. 
And there was that precious young ensign on a furlough 
from Canada, who did you out of a thousand dollars, and 
his father wouldn’t pay a cent of it. And there was ’ 

^ But this is a good fellow,’ said Harry, cutting short 
the list of disreputable guests.' ‘ Let me see ; which of 
the Ashburners can it be? I knew three or four of 
them. There was Captain Ashburner at Oldport, sum- 
mer before last, you remember; and his brother the 
Oxford man ; and Lord Ashburner’s son I knew at Hei- 
delberg. I shouldn’t wonder if this is Lord Ashburner’s 
son. But they are all very fair men.’ 

Whatever doubts Masters may have had on the mat- 
ter were dissipated next morning by the appearance of 
Ashburner himself Our young tourist, having collected 


* The Swamp is a part of the city principally inhabited by curriers 
and tanners. 


54 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


his letters of introduction, and spent nearly a day in 
tramping through the ‘ above Bleecker’ part of the city, 
was gratified by finding that everybody was out of town 
(except one old gentleman who had died recently) ; and 
learning that Masters, whose place fronted the thirteenth 
milestone from City Hall, was the most comeatable of his 
acquaintances in esse or posse, resolved to hunt him up 
the next day. Eleven miles of the expedition he per- 
formed without difficulty on a tolerably well appointed, 
but not particularly fast railroad. For the remaining 
two he was obliged to foot it, fortunately in the morning 
of a not too warm day. The heats of May in this part 
of America are usually succeeded by a week or fortnight 
of comparatively cool weather in the beginning of June, 
before the sultry summer fairly sets in. So the guest 
reached his host’s abode rather dusty but otherwise in 
good trim. 

As Edward Ashburner will figure considerably in 
some of our sketches, it may not be amiss here to say a 
few words about him. He was nearly three years young- 
er than Harry Masters, an eldest son, fond of classics, 
politics, and travelling, and had attained to that complete 
state of bodily and mental training combined, which 
most young Englishmen, who make a proper use of the 
advantages afforded them by their universities, are sure 
to arrive at. He stood nearly six feet in his stockings, 
could read twelve hours or walk twelve hours out of the 
twenty-four, according as he was called* on to do either, 
eat anything, drink any amount, sleep anywhere. That 
he was awkward and shy in mixed society, and especially 
in ladies’ society ; that he had a clumsy way of doing 
civil things ; that he dressed badly, danced badly, and 
spoke French badly, though fluently : all this follows 
of course from his being a young Englishman. 


CATCHING A LION. 


55 


Masters’ house at Devilshoof (which unromantic name 
the Masters place had inherited from old Dutch times) 
was a wide, deep, wooden, two-storj dwelling, of a sun- 
shiny yellow colour, with a spacious piazza running all 
round it, and three rooms on a floor upon each side of a 
large hall. Into this hall Ashburner was admitted, and 
found Masters in full enjoyment of the dolcefar niente. 
With cigarette in mouth and one foot in the air, the 
master of the house reclined in a lumbering Chinese 
cane-chair, nearly as big as an omnibus. He wore a mag- 
niflcent shawl-pattern dressing-gown, orange cashmere 
without, and rose silk within, confined at the waist by a 
tasselled cord that looked like a very superior style of 
bell-pull ; very wide light blue trowsers, slippers of the 
same colour embroidered in gold, a blue and white silk 
cravat, and a red smoking-cap, more for show than use, 
jauntily pitched on one side of his head. From his 
whole attire emanated a combined odour of French sachets^ 
German Cologne, and Turkish tobacco. A beautiful 
child was sporting around him, playing bopeep behind the 
stupendous chair, and crying out ^ Bah, papa !’ As the 
visitor entered he leaped up, scattering the ashes and 
tobacco of his loosely rolled cigarette over himself, and 
Ashburner, and the matting of the hall floor. 

‘ How are you, old fellow ? I’m so glad you’ve found 
your way here. Holla, baby! don’t run away!’ and 
catching the hope of the Masters by both shoulders in 
the act of toddling off, he swung up the astonished urchin 
close to the nose of the equally astonished Englishman. 
‘ Here’s the first curiosity of the place, my boy ! He’s 
just three years old rising, can drive a horse on a straight 
road, fears no manner of bug,* eats everything he can 


'^Bug is tlie popular American designation of all insects except but- 
terflies. 


56 


SKETCHES OF AMEEIOAN SOCIETY. 


get, and drinks every liquid in the house except ink. 
Look at him ! Isn’t he a beauty 1 Isn’t he a whole 
team and one horse extra?’ 

Ashburner duly praised young America, and at that 
moment Clara appeared, in a dressing-gown also ; but 
hers was a tricolour pattern, litied with blue silk. 

‘ A very handsome young couple, certainly,’ thought 
the Englishman, ‘but how theatrically got up? I won- 
der if they always go about in the country dressed this 
way !’ And he thought of the sensation, the mouvemens 
divers that such a costume would excite among the guests 
of the paternal mansion at Alderstave. 

Masters, with a rapid alteration of style and manner, 
and a vast elaboration of politeness, introduced his wife 
and guest. Ashburner fidgeted a little, and looked as if 
he did not exactly know what to do with his arms and 
legs. Mrs. Masters was as completely at her ease as if 
she had known him all her life, and, by way of putting 
him at his ease too, began to abuse England and the En- 
glish to him, and retail the old grievance of her husband’s 
plunder by Ensign Lawless, and the ungentlemanly be- 
haviour of Lawless on the occasion, and the volum- 
inous correspondence that took place between him and 
Harry, which the Blunder and Bluster afterwards pub- 
lished in full, under the heading ‘ American Hospitality 
and English Repudiation,’ in extra caps; and so she 
went on to the intense mystification of Ashburner, who 
couldn’t precisely make out whether she was in jest or 
earnest, till Masters came to the rescue. 

‘ When did you arrive, Ashburner ?’ 

‘ Yesterday morning.’ 

‘ The first question an American generally asks an 
Englishman is, ‘ How do you like our country ?’ and the 
second, ‘ What'll you take to drink V I won’t put the 


CATCHINa A LION. 


57 


first to you, for you have hardly been long enough here 
to answer it, but the second is always appropriate.’ 

‘ I have heard a great deal about sherry-cobbler, but 
did not order one at the hotel for fear I might not ob- 
tain it there in perfection.’ 

‘ You won’t enjoy it anywhere in perfection just now. 
To be properly appreciated it requires a hot day, of 
which we shall have some in a week or two. Will you 
put yourself into my hands, and let me recommend for 
this weather some plain sherry ? There is some all 
ready in the refrigerator ; I will fetch it myself’ 

And straightway Masters bustled off to the pantry, 
and speedily returned with a decanter of very pale wine 
and three glasses, which he placed on a diminutive stand. 

^ This is Manzanilla, our favourite sherry,’ and he 
poured out a bumper to Ashburner, who made a doubtful 
face on tasting it, for with the J)itter flavour of Amon- 
tillado was combined in it a distinct taste of ether. ^You 
don’t like it, I see. No one does at first. When I came 
back in ’44 this wine was just becoming fashionable. The 
first time I tasted it, it seemed like medicine ; the second, 
I thought the flavour peculiar, but not unpleasant ; the 
third time I became exceedingly fond of it. So it will 
be with you. And as you will very often have Manzan- 
illa put before you, I thought it well to initiate you into 
the mystery of it at once. It is not a strong wine — all 
the better for that here. Our dry climate does not allow 
the same fiery and heavy drinks as your moist one. You 
must give up your ale and port, and brandied sherries. 
The very necessity of ‘liquoring’ so often in our warm 
weather obliges us to weaken our liquor. You can’t ice 
this sherry too much. We dine at four or half-past, and 
you see this has been in ice already. What time is it? 
Eleven. That reminds me. How long is your stay in 
America to be V 


58 


SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


‘I do not intend to return till the end of the year, or 
perhaps till next spring.’ 

‘ Then of course you will do Niagara, and Canada, 
and the watering-places, this summer, come hack to New 
York for the season (our season begins iu November), 
and go on to Washington in mid winter. You had bet- 
ter, then, put off all your lionization of the city (there is 
not a great deal of it to do) until your return. And 
now let me drive you down to your hotel ; bring back 
your carpet-bag, and pass a few days with us till the warm 
weather sets in. Then we can go to my brother’s place 
higher up the river, and after that shape our plans at 
leisure. Excuse me for three minutes while I put on 
my boots.’ 

Masters rushed to the back door, shouted out some 
rapid orders to his stable, which, though partially con- 
cealed by trees, was within hailing distance of the house, 
and then scampered upstairs, where his three minutes 
turned out to be twenty or twenty-five : during which 
time Mrs. Masters and her husband’s guest did not inter^ 
change much conversation, and Ashburner, in default of 
other amusement, applied himself again to the Manzan- 
illa, which he certainly found to improve on acquaintance ; 
so inuch so, that after finishing his first glass, he des- 
patched a second, and was dubitating on the propriety of 
a third when Masters reappeared. He had exchanged 
his dressing gown for a dark brown cutaway, and his 
slippers for prunella boots of feminine aspect, tipped 
with varnished leather at the toe. 

‘ Now, mon am% I hear the wagon coming round ; 
come out on the stoop.’ 

Ashburner remained stationary, not exactly under- 
standing the invitation. 

‘ Oh you don’t know what stoop means. It is one of 


CATCHING A LION. 


59 


the Dutch words we Gothamites have retained. Well, 
then, come out on the front piazza.’ 

So they went out, and Ashburner saw before the 
door two compact little dark brown horses, with white 
faces and white hind-feet. They had on the very 
lightest harness imaginable — slender collars, cobweb- 
like traces and hip-straps, no winkers or check-reins ; 
and behind them was such a vehicle as he had never 
seen before, even in dreams. At first he could discern 
nothing but four tall slender wheels of a bright ver- 
milion picked out in red, with a groom sitting among 
them ; but a closer inspection enabled him to perceive 
a scanty seat for two persons, with no appreciable back. 
The box of the seat was varnished leather, except a 
dark green wooden rim that rose about three inches 
from the gaily carpeted fioor. 

^ There’s my wagon,’ said Masters ; ‘ it’s not a regu- 
lar trotting wagon — weighs three hundred or more — but 
light enough for a team. Get in.’ 

‘ But how do you get in V asked the other, looking 
very dubiously at the mysterious carriage, the front 
and hind wheels of which on the same side all but touch- 
ed each other. 

^ So !’ quoth Harry, who had meantime crowned 
himself with a very long-napped white beaver, and fitted 
on his white driving-gloves ; ^ just this way !’ • 

And running behind, he leaped in over the back, or 
where the back might have been, and took the white- 
webbed reins from the groom, who, on his part, tumbled 
out half over, half between, the wheels by an extra- 
ordinary gymnastic evolution. 

‘ Ah, that'^s the way, is it V and Ashburner was prepar- 
ing to follow suit. 


60 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

‘ No, this is the way. Hold on.’* 

Masters hauled in his off-horse, slanting his front 
axle and locking his off fore-wheel, by which means he 
left on the nigh side a considerable space between the 
hind-wheel and the front, and Ashburner first became 
aware of the existence of a practicable iron step, by 
which he ascended without much difficulty. 

‘ Hold fast, old fellow,’ said Masters, and he drew up 
the reins, which had been lying loose in his hand. 

Immediately the horses started off at a pace that 
nearly sent Ashburner backwards out of the wagon. 
Out at the gate they flew, up the lane that led to the 
turnpike, through another gate, and along the main 
road at their authenticated speed of 3' Masters 
settling himself further back in his seat and tightening 
his pull, and the trotters going faster as he pulled more. 
Ashburner could hear nothing for the clattering of the 
pole-chains and the patter of those eight hoofs as they 
swept the ground in their tearing trot, nor see anything 
for the clouds of dirt and gravel which the trotters’ fore- 
feet threw back over the low dashboard. He held on 
with both hands, and trusted to Providence. 

^Wo-o!’ ejaculated Masters at last, after proceeding 
for about two minutes at this headlong rate ; and as he 
spoke he slackened his reins gradually. The horses 
fell into a steady gate of twelve miles an hour. 

‘We must take them easy most of the way,’ says 
Harry, ‘ for the roads are heavy.’ 

‘Do you call this going easy?’ replied his friend, 
with a glance at the rapidly receding objects on each 
side the road. ‘We must be making sixteen miles an 
hour.’ 


* Hold on is American for hold hard. 


CATCHING A LION. 


61 


‘Not thirteen. You always seem to be going faster 
with a team than you are, because they make more noise.’ 

‘ Well, I don’t pretend to judge of pace just now, for 
my eyes are full of gravel. Why don’t you build your 
dashboards higher?’ 

‘ Because it is necessary to see the horses’ feet. Be- 
fore a well-trained trotter breaks, he usually gives warn- 
ing by a skip or two. With a low dashboard you can 
note this instantly, and hold him up in time ; other- 
wise your horse might be carried off his feet before 
you knew it.’ 

So they rolled along merrily some five miles to Ilar- 
laem Bridge, over which the team walked, not because 
they were tired, but because it was illegal to cross at a 
faster gait, — an ordinance rendered necessary by the 
frail structure of most American bridges ; and then as 
they passed through the village of Harlaem, where 
taverns, and stables, and fast trotters abound. Masters 
gave his horses another brush, by way of astonishing 
the natives. 

‘ He-e-eh !’ shouted a blacksmith, looking up from 
his work as the vermilion wheels rattled by. 

The nigh horse made a skip, and his driver just 
caught him in time. 

‘ He-e-eh ! G’lang !’ shouted back Harry over his 
shoulder, in triumphant defiance, as much as to say, 
‘You don’t break up my team so easy, my boy !’ And 
then growing excited by the pace, he continued to 
scream at his horses and lift them, until he had suc- 
ceeded in aggravating the trotters to such an extent, 
that when he wanled to pull up at the next milestone, 
they could not be made to stop, though it was on tho 
ascent of a pretty steep hill, until he had thrown one 
leg over the lines. 

4 


62 SKETCHES OF. AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

^ Your animals are not easily tired,’ his friend 
remarked, as, for the first time, they proceeded at an 
easy trot. ^ Are these very fancy horses, or is it com- 
mon to have such a pair ?’ 

‘ There are several teams on the island that can heat 
me five or ten seconds in a mile, hut few so well matched 
in looks or driving together so nicely. I have had them 
a year, and they are pretty well used to my hand, — 
and to my wife’s, for that matter.’ 

‘ And what does such a pair cost ?’ 

^-I got these a bargain for 800 dollars from a friend, 
who was just married and going abroad. Probably, a 
jockey would have charged me four figures* for them. 
That was a year ago last month. I had twenty-six 
hundred then to spend in luxuries, and invested it in 
three nearly equal portions. It may amuse to know 
how. These horses I bought for myself, as I said, for 
800 dollars ; a grand Pleyel for Mrs. Masters for 900 
dollars ; and a man for myself for the same sum.’ 

‘ A man V 

‘Yes, a coachman. You look mystified. Come, 
now, candidly, is New York a slave State? Do you 
know, or what do you think?’ 

‘ I had supposed it was not.’ 

‘ You supposed right, and know more about it than 
all your countrymen take the trouble to know. Never- 
theless, it is literally true that I bought this man for the 
other 900 dollars ; and it happened in this wise. One 
fine morning there was a great hue and cry in Washing- 
ton. Nearly a hundred slaves of different ages, sexes, 
and colours, most of them house-servants in the best 
families, had made a stampedo^ as the Western men say. 


* I. e. A thousand dollars or more. 


CATCHING A LION. 


63 


They had procured a sloop through the aid of some 
white men, and sailed off up the Potomac, — not a very 
brilliant proceeding on their part. The poor devils were 
all taken, and sentence of transportation passed upon 
them — for it amounts to that : they were condemned 
(by their masters) to be sold into the south-western 
States. Some of the cases were peculiarly distressing, — ■ 
among others, a quadroon man, who had been coachman 
to one of our government secretaries. He had a wife 
and five children, all free in Washington; but two of 
his sisters were in bondage with him, — very pretty and 
intelligent girls, report said. The three were sold to a 
slave-trader, who kept them some time on speculation. 
The circumstance attracted a good deal of attention in 
New York ; some of the papers were full of it. I saw 
the account one morning, and happening to have this 
900 dollars on hand, I wrote straight off to one of our 
Abolition members at Washington (I never saw him in my 
life, but one doesn’t stand on ceremony in such matters, 
and the whole thing was done on the spur of the moment), 
saying that if either of the girls could be bought for that 
sum I would give it. The gentleman who had the 
honour of my correspondence put upon him, wrote to 
another gentleman — standing counsel, I believe, for the 
Washington Abolitionists — and he wrote to the slave- 
trader, one Bruin (devilish good name, that, for his busi- 
ness !) who sent back a glorious answer, which I keep 
among my epistolary curiosities. ‘ The girls are very" 
fine ones,’ said this precious specimen ; ‘ I have been 
offered 1000 dollars for one of them by a Louisiana 
gentleman. They cannot be sold at a lower price than 
1200 dollars and 1300 dollars respectively. If I could 
be sure that your friend’s motives were those of unmixed 
philanthropy, I would make a considerable reduction. 


64 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


The man, who is a very deserving person, and whom I 
should be glad to see at liberty, can be had for 900 dol- 
lars ; but I suppose your correspondent takes less inter- 
est in him.’ The infernal scamp thought I wanted a 
mistress, and his virtuous mind revolted at the thought 
of parting with one of the girls for such a purpose — ex- 
cept for an extra consideration.’* 

^ It must have been a wet blanket upon your philan- 
thropic intentions.’ 

‘ Really I hardly knew whether to be most angry or 
amused at the turn things had taken. As to Clara, she 
thought it a glorious joke, and did nothing for the next 
month but quiz me about the quadroon girls, and ask 
me when she might expect them. However, I thought, 
with the Ethiopian in the ballad, that ‘ it would never dp 
to give it up so,’ and accordingly wrote back to Washing- 
ton that I should be very glad indeed to buy the man. 
Unfortunately, the man was half-way to Mississippi by 

that time Now we are well up that hill and can take 

a good brush down to the next. Gr’l-lang, ponies ! He- 
eh ! Wake up. Firefly !’ 

‘And then?’ 

‘ Oh, how he got off, after all ! It was a special in- 
terference of Providence. (G’lang, Star !) The Hon. 
Secretary felt some compunctions about the fate of his 
coachman, and hearing that the money was all ready 
to pay for him, actually paid himself the additional 50 
dollars required to bring him back to Washington ; so 
he lives there now a free man with his family, — at least, 
for all I know to the contrary, for I never heard any 
more about him since.’ 


* All the above incidents are literally true, and the extracts frona 
Bruin’s letter almost verlatim copies. 


CATCHING A LION. 


65 


‘And what became of the girls?’ 

‘ There was a subscription raised for them here. My 
brother Carl gave something towards it, — not that he 
cared particularly for the young ladies, but because he 
had a strong desire to sell the gentleman from Louisiana. 
They were ransomed, and brought here, and put to 
school somewhere, and a vast fuss made about them — 
quite enough to spoil them, I’m afraid. And so ends 
that story. What a joke to think, of a man being worth 
just as much as a grand piano, and a little more than a 
pair of ponies !’ 

Ashburner thought that Masters treated the whole 
affair too much as a joke. 

‘ Tell me,’ said he, ‘ if these people came to New York, 
or you met them travelling, would you associate with 
them on familiar terms ?’ 

‘Not with Mr. Bruin, certainly,’ replied Harry. ‘To 
give the devil his due, such a man is considered to fol- 
low an infamous vocation, even in his part of the 
country.’ 

‘ But the Honourable Secretary and the other gen- 
tlemen, who sell their men to work on the cotton plan- 
tations, and their women for something worse ?’ 

‘ H-m ! A-h ! Bid you ever meet a Russian ? — in 
your own country, I mean.’ 

‘ Yes, I met one at dinner once. I won’t pretend to 
pronounce his name.’ 

‘ Bid you go out of the way to be uncivil to him, be- 
cause he owned serfs V 

‘ No, but I didn’t go out of my way to be particularly 
genial with him.’ 

‘ Exactly : the cases are precisely parallel. The 
Southerners are our Russians. They come up to the 
North to be civilized ; they send their boys here to be 


66 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


educated ; they spend* a good deal of money here. We 
are civil to them, hut not over genial, — some of us, at 
least, are not.’ 

By this time the fast-stepping trotters had passed 
through Yorkville, and reached the outskirts of the city. 
As soon as their feet touched the pavement they fell in- 
to a walk. 

^You see it is impossible to drive fast over these 
terrible stones in a light carriage, so we shall go easy 
for this last mile to your hotel,’ said Masters. ‘ We can 
afford it, for there wasn’t much time lost on the road. 
See here (pulling out his watch), twelve miles in forty- 
nine minutes, including a stoppage for toll ! I call that 
pretty good travelling.’ 

And now Ashburner became sensible of a change in 
the temperature. They had been making their own 
breeze previously by the rapidity of their motion, but 
now there was scarcely a breath of air, and as the wagon 
was undefended by any sort of top or head, he began to 
feel the heat of the sun more than was altogether plea- 
sant. 

^ Surely it is hot enough now for a sherry-cobbler V 
he remarked after a pause. 

^ Hardly, to enjoy one’ in perfection, but it will do- 
When we get to your hotel I’ll brew you a first-rate one.’ 
And, the horses being stimulated to a gentle trot, they 
soon arrived at Ashburner’s temporary head-quarters, 
which were, fortunately, ^ above Bleecker.’ 

‘Now pack your bag,’ said Masters, ‘ and the cobbler 
will be ready by that time.’ 

‘ But what do you do with your horses V asked the 
other, who saw no groom or other person to whom they 
might be entrusted. 

‘ Tie them, to be sure,’ was the reply ; and handing 


CATCHING A LION. 


67 


the lines to Ashburner, as he stopped his team, Masters 
leaped out, pulled a hitching-strap from under the seat, 
and fastened his off-horse very neatly to a lamp-post. 
Then, after Ashburner had descended, he tied his white 
hand pieces to an opening made for the purpose on one 
side of the dashboard, and finally diving under the seat 
once more he produced two sheets, with the names of his 
horses. Starlight and Firefly^ showily worked thereon in 
red letters, and spread them carefully over his team. 
Then, taking his whip with him for fear of casual appro- 
priators, he accompanied his friend into the hotel. 

When Ashburner returned to his sitting-room, after 
arranging his bag, he found Masters in all his glory, sur- 
rounded by the sutorial requisites. Four large tumblers, 
two wine-glasses, a couple of lemons, ditto of knives, a 
decanter of sherry (not Manzanilla, but dark in colour 
and high in flavour), a saucer of powdered sugar, and 
another of finely-pounded ice, were paraded on the table, 
and among them sat Masters, on the table also, examin- 
ing a bundle of fresh straws. 

‘Now ,’ said he, ‘ take a knife and a lemon, and do 
as you see me do ; donT mind soiling your fingers. First 
you rub the lemon with the back of the knife — that 
brings out the essential oil better ; then you pare off the 
rind very carefully, taking only the yellow, and not cut- 
ting into the white at all. Yery well. Imbed your le- 
mon-peel in as much sugar as you would use if making a 
similarly-sized glass of punch. Sometimes you will see 
slices of lemon put into a cobbler — nothing can be more 
destructive ; avoid everything but the yellow peel. If 
you vdll have something more, put in a slice of orange or 
pine-apple, or a few strawberries. I think this may be 
done to good effect in a bowl, but not in a single glass. 
Now fill your tumbler half-way with pounded ice. 


68 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


Good. And now pour in two wine-glasses of sherry. 
You see we use dark sherry for this, both for the strength 
and the colour. It makes the mixture of a beautiful 
golden hue ; with Amontillado or Manzanilla it would 
look too weak. Don’t be impatient; we have to mix 
yet.’ He took up one of the spare glasses, covered with 
it the mouth of the tumbler which contained the magic 
compound, and shook the cobbler back and forwards 
from ene glass to the other a dozen times without spil- 
ling a drop. ‘ There, now choose a perfect straw, and then 
try it ! I’ll change glasses with you as yours is not yet 
mixed, and you might not be handy at tossing it the 
first time.’ 

Ashburner took a long draught of the cool liquid 
through the straw, and confessed that he experienced a 
new sensation. 

‘Now don’t drink it too fast. You should take a 
quarter of an hour to each glass. Three glasses a-piece 
will be enough, and we have an hour before us.’ 

The decanter terminated with the hour. In the 
pauses of the cobbler, Masters having caught Ashbur- 
ner’s flunkey as he looked in at the door, read him a lec- 
ture on the best way of employing his time during his 
master’s absence, by making himself acquainted with the 
city, &c. ; laying down the law so rapidly, that the man, 
who was about of the average English flunkey intelligence, 
was completely mystified, and Ashburner himself as 
much astonished as an Englishman ever permits himself 
to be to hear his servant tutored by another man. 

‘ I must be permitted to doubt your wisdom,’ said 
Masters, as the servant retired, ‘in bringing him with 
you. On the Continent one must have a courier, — it 
really saves money as well as trouble, for the fellow 
cheats you a little and prevents you being cheated a 


CATCHING A LION. 


69 


great deal ; but a man-servant, who does not understand 
both the customs and the language of the country (the 
former quite as important a point as the latter), is only 
in the way. To be sure, he is of some service as a valet 
when you are at a city hotel, and he may learn enough 
of the streets in a few days to go your errands for you 
(though I should doubt that unless he is sharper than 
most English servants that I have seen) ; but when you 
get into the country, especially in the West, you will 
find this man sitting at the same table with you, riding 
in the same vehicle, paying the same fare, — in all respects 
treated as your equal ; and, since you have your wits 
about you more than he has, you will, in fact, be obliged 
to take care of him, instead of his being of any service 
to you. And now as the sherry is all gone we will go 
too, especially as we have but eighty minutes to get 
home and dress for dinner.’ 

Masters’ advice was very correct and proper in itself, 
but there was also a little personal motive mixed with it. 
He had no intention of including Ashburner’s attendant 
in the invitation to stop a few days, lest the English 
body-servant should quarrel with his own black cook and 
Irish grooms, whom he found it hard enough to manage 
already. When Ashburner and he descended to their 
vehicle, the former observed several idlers gazing at it, 
and remarked that the turn-out, which would have at- 
tracted a crowd in London, was something to look at 
even in New York. 

‘ That’s on account of my red wheels,’ exclaimed 
Masters. ‘ They are rather rowdy, I must own ; not 
exactly the thing for a gentleman. But the use of them 
is this. I go to a trot on Long Island ; there are some 
hundred wagons there, all fastened close together to fen- 
ces or under sheds. My wheels are so conspicuous that 

4 * 


70 


SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


I can pick them out at once in a great crowd, and it 
saves much time and trouble in starting for home. Now 
I shall drive round the corner to a livery stable and 
sponge out the ponies’ mouths, and then hey for Devils- 
hoof!’ 

Back to Devilshoof they went, even faster than they 
had come ; and before the clock struck four Ashburner 
had full time to dress and rid himself of some pounds of 
the Third Avenue and Westchester turnpike, which had 
been thrown into his ears and eyes, down his cravat, in- 
to his trousers’ pockets even, by the forefeet of Starlight 
and Firefly. 

'Dinner was served at four precisely. The table-ser- 
vice was of the plainest description, not a vestige of plate 
except the silver forks ; and the viands of no very re- 
cherche kind — home-raised chickens and a Virginia ham 
constituting the staple of the meal ; but everything, 
from the okra soup to the orange fritters, was flrst-rate of 
its kind ; the indispensable Manzanilla was supported by 
excellent champagne, decanted and iced to the freezing 
point (a test of good wine, for no inferior quality will 
bear it) ; and when, at last. Masters commended to his 
guest a prime bottle of Latour, and a swelling slender- 
necked decanter of the old Vanderlyn Madeira, Ashbur- 
ner felt thoroughly comfortable and content, as a man 
should, who is drinking well after having dined well. He 
was a pretty fair hand at the bottle, as most Englishmen 
are ; indeed, he crowded his host very hard, who was a 
fastidious, but not a profuse drinker, and li\ed to sip 
his Bordeaux leisurely. Before their united efforts the 
jug of claret and the decanter of Madeira speedily van- 
ished ; and then came some sublime coffee, during the 
discussion of which Masters extemporised a dissertation 
on the method of preparing that beverage, ^ which it is 


CATCHING A LION. 


71 


singular your countrymen never understand how to 
make;’ finally a chasse of white Curaqoa assisted the 
guest to swallow his host’s lecture. 

Mrs. Masters had joined freely in their conversation 
during the repast ; indeed, she may he said to have taken 
the largest share of it to herself At first she was barely 
within the bounds of civility ; slighted or ridiculed every- 
thing about the English unmercifully ; and more than 
once puzzled Ashburner both as to how he was to take 
her remarks, and how to reply to them. Gradually this 
sauciness, and almost rudeness, refined itself down to a 
piquant raillery, with occasional gracefully compensating 
compliments, till he found her discourse as agreeable as 
it had at first been embarrassing. Still there was always 
in it an air of half-defiance, and half-carelessness, that 
strangely affected the young Honourable, who had always 
been petted and toadied at home, and was not used to 
meet an untitled person who thought, and showed that 
she thought herself, at least, as good as himself 

After dinner. Masters carried off his guest to the sta- 
ble, and had the stud paraded before him. 

‘ That black is my blood colt. Daredevil : Mrs. Mas- 
ters and her sister are the only two men on the island 
that can ride him, Hibernically speaking. He threw me, 
the other day. If you want to show your horsemanship, 
he will give you a good opportunity of doing so, when- 
ever you please. And this is my pet saddle-horse, Char- 
lie ; he used to be a fast-trotter in harness, till I broke 
him over again for riding ; and this my wife’s gray 
mare ; and these my carriage horses. Aren’t they beau- 
ties, though I say it myself?’ 

‘ Very handsome, and very well matched; but rather 
small, I think, according to our standard. They are not 
sixteen hands, surely V 


72 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


‘ Just fifteen three ; and, do you know, my only fault 
with them is, that they are rather large. We prefer 
middle-sized horses ; we think that large ones generally 
have less speed, and always knock themselves up sooner. 
On the first point there may be a doub^, but on the se- 
cond there is none, at least in this country. I gave 500 
dollars for this team, and I could have bought more than 
one pair nearly three inches taller, and as well matched, 
for less money. There are my ponies, whose capacity 
you are acquainted with.’ 

‘ How comes it that you call horses of that size ponies, 
when your average height is below ours? — at least I 
judge it to be so, for I have seen nothing about your 
city like our large dray-horses.’ 

‘ I believe that any horse under carriage size is fami- 
liarly denominated a pony, especially if he happens to be 
a trotter. I have heard Charlie called a pony often, 
and he is nearly as big as my coach-horses.’ 

Then they strolled round the place, which did not 
involve a very long walk, as Masters’ grounds were com- 
prised within the limits of fourteen acres ; accordingly 
he extended their perambulation by diverging into the 
neighbours’ premises on both sides. The places had one 
general character. There was no attempt anywhere at 
lawns, which, indeed, could not be kept up in perfection 
under the hot American sun by any amount of care 
and labour ; the open grass between the houses and the 
river was suffered to grow long, and occasionally broken 
by natural banks and terraces. The river views were 
beautiful ; white sails specked the clear blue water, and 
white clouds the clear blue sky, except where long lines 
of scarlet and gold marked the downward progress of 
the setting sun. The gardens were formal, more resem- 
bling Dutch than English ; the hot-houses small, there 


CATCHIlSra A LION. 


73 


being less necessity for them, as grapes and melons flour- 
ish here in the open air. The mansions were invariably 
built of wood, large and roomy. There were no hedges, 
and few fences, except at the boundaries ; what there 
were seemed, almost purposely, to be allowed to fall in- 
to decay. 

Fatigued with his day’s experiences, Ashburner was 
not sorry to take an early opportunity of retiring. Mas- 
ters himself played chamberlain, and showed him to his 
room. 

‘ I believe your countrymen are addicted to feather 
beds and curtains,’ he said ; ‘ but we really have not 
either in the house. We use nothing but French bed- 
steads and hair matresses.’ 

Ashburner assured him that he was not so efieminate 
as to require anything softer. 

‘ And we have not the Croton water-works here ; but 
there is a portable shower-bath,’ pointing to a sort of 
tent in one corner of the apartment, ‘ which you will 
And convenient in the morning. Buenas noches /’ 

Ashburner spent nearly a week at Devilshoof, as 
much pleased, perhaps, certainly as much amused, as he 
had ever been at a country mansion in his own land, 
though he was differently entertained, and had, in some 
respects, a very different sort of host. The American 
was full of dash and aplomb^ and good-humoured brag- 
gad ocia. shy^ reserved^ silent^ modesty were words 

that might have had no existence in the (English or 
American) language, so far.as he was concerned with them. 
Ashburner could not help wondering at the matter-of- 
course tone in which a young man, little older than him- 
self, and considerably under thirty, spoke of ^What I 
said to Daniel Webster,’ and ‘When I was trustee of 
the Historical,’ and ‘ The petition that we are getting up 


74 


SKETCHES OF AMEKlCAN SOCIETY. 


to the Common Council to open the Tenth Avenue,’ and 
‘ When I was seeing about Mary’s settlements,’ and 
‘ Once, when I knew more about stocks than I do now, 
and used to write the money articles for the Blunder 
and Bluster ;’ in short, he talked like a man who had al- 
ready been for years a well-established and important 
member of the community. Whatever his establishment 
did not possess he made no attempt to conceal the defi- 
ciency of ; whatever he had was usually pretty good of 
its kind, and he made no secret of that either. When 
Ashburner came to know him better, he found the secret 
of this, which was twofold. 

Henry Masters was an orphan, as the reader may or 
may not remember. Since his wedding he had lost his 
father-in-law and grandfather ; married off his sister to a 
rich Philadelphian ; quarrelled with most of hi^ cousins ; 
and so, with the exception of his brother Carl (and him 
he met, perhaps, six times in the course of a year), he 
had no one to depend upon, look up to, or consult, and 
was entirely left to his own energies and discretion. The 
death of his relatives had increased his independence as 
well as his isolation, by doubling his income. During 
his childhood he had seen a good deal of rough life in 
country boarding-schools — places where instances have 
been known of boys being compelled to clean their master’s 
horse or boots, precisely d la Dotheboys Hall. His quick 
apprehension and retentive memory made him a fit subject 
for the superficial and miscellaneous, but very practical edu- 
cation, common in his country^ His foreign travel added 
to this a fair speaking acquaintance with three or four 
modern languages, and a knowledge of the dishes, and dress- 
es, and other obvious external peculiarities of the principal 
nations in Europe. He made a first-rate match, almost 
without an effort on his part. All these things put him in a 


CATCHING A LION. 


75 


position nearly answering to the Greek idea of the man 
avrapK^Sj or self-sufficient. He knew no subject very deep- 
ly or accurately, but something about almost every subject 
in the schedule of human knowledge ; and whatever he did 
know was always at hiscommand'^nd ready to be made the 
most of He could write newspaper and magazine articles, 
critical, political, or financial, with vast facility, being re- 
strained by no modest doubts or scruples ; and could stand 
up and harangue any number of people about any topic, 
without notice (a faculty, it may be here remarked, which 
comes by nature to all Americans, educated or uneduca- 
ted). He did his own marketing, and collected his own 
rents and interests. He could show his cook how to 
prepare a new dish, and draw patterns of carriages for 
his coach-maker. Half the time he cleaned his gloves 
and varnished his dress-boots himself, being fully persua- 
ded that he could do them better than his man. He 
drove about the country in his wagon without a servant ; 
and if he had occasion to stop at any place where the 
stable boy was out of the way, or occupied, unharnessed 
his own trotter with little difficulty, and less scruple. 
He was always well up in the prices of stocks and real 
estate. When he chose to play Sybarite, he surrounded 
his friends with all the comforts that wealth could pro- 
cure, while he was still independent of all the ministers 
of luxury, and could have roughed it at any moment 
with the most enterprising traveller, though in the daily 
enjoyment of silken ease at home. Such a man’s con- 
sciousness of independence is apt, nay, sure to make 
him a little conceited ; and those young men, of whom 
Masters is a marked and favourable type, are conceited, 
it must be owned, and talk in a way beyond their 
years, to judge by the customs of any other country j 
but then, in no other country are young men similarly 
circumstanced, educated, and developed. 


76 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAH SOCIETY. 


But the showy and flourishing style of Young Ame- 
rica was, moreover, increased in this particular instance 
by Masters’ position as host. The Englishman is by 
nature rather charitable than hospitable. G-enerous to 
the foreigner if he comes before him in forma pauperis ^ 
he is otherwise not over-desirous of his company, or soli- 
citous of his good opinion. Perfectly satisfied with 
himself and Ms country, he relies for any future possible 
improvement on the progressive idealization of his own 
character, nof on the adoption of any hints from abroad. 
When he travels, he generally contrives to carry a little 
England of his own about with him ; and therefore, 
seldom requiring the assistance of others in a foreign 
land, he cannot fully appreciate the difficulties of a 
foreigner in his. The American is naturally hospitable. 
The mere name of ^ stranger’ makes a man to him an 
object not of suspicion, but of sympathy-r-and this, too, 
though he has suflbred from foreign impostors quite as 
much in proportion as honest John Bull. Feeling that 
his country is a new one, and yet making its position in 
the world ; knowing, too, that everything connected with 
it is apt to be misconceived and misrepresented in Europe, 
he is painfully anxious to put his best foot foremost in 
the presence of strangers, and to prove to them, not by 
words alone, but by deeds, that his countrymen are 
neither illiterate nor uncivilized. His ambition extends 
further still ; he delights to startle his visitor with his 
fast trotters and elegantly-built carriages, miraculously- 
cut coats, an(i sumptuous furniture, old Madeira, canvass- 
backs, beautiful women, and other vanities of the world, 
in the highest perfection. 

Thus it happened, that whatever Masters said or did 
was said or done with a view of showing off before Ash- 
burner. He dressed half-a-dozen times a day, in fancy 


CATCHING A LION. 


77 


cutaways, wonderful checked trousers, with cross-bars of 
different but harmoniously blended colours, and an infi- 
nite variety of cravats and waistcoats ; and regularly put 
himself into a dress-coat and black continuations, dia- 
mond studs and varnished boots, for their four o’clock 
dinner, at which he plied his guest with choice vintages, 
the names of which were as puzzling to him as the 
flavours were delicious. Then, again, to show that he was 
not a mere fine gentleman, he would put on the seediest 
of summer paletots and moleskin trousers, with an old 
straw hat or oilskin cap, and in that trim drive Ashbur- 
ner to see the High Bridge, or other lions within five or 
six miles, or ramble about the country with him before 
breakfast. Though very fast for a short brush, he was 
evidently unused to long walks, and terribly pounded by 
them ; but having discovered that Ashburner liked this 
kind of exercise, he accompanied him heroically for hours, 
at an almost professional pace, consoling his fatigue 
afterwards as best he might by vast potations of cobbler. 
He laboured hard, and not unsuccessfully, to beat Ash- 
burner at his own game of billiards.* He always man- 
aged to have his magazine articles laid about on tables 
where his friend would be pretty sure to read them ; 
while, on the other hand, he was careful to keep out of 
his way any less favourable specimens of the periodical 
literature of the country : and Ashburner once detected 
him at a neighbour’s house, in the act of hiding a parti- 
cularly scandalous number of The Sewer ^ lest it might 
fall under the stranger’s observation. Conscious that his 
Latin and Greek was not on a par with the Englishman’s, 
he branched out largely, whenever occasion offered, into 


* The Americans usually play the four-ball game, scoring the 
losing hazards against the party making them. 


78 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


Grerman, French, and Spanish literature ; particularly 
the last, where he had it all his own way : still he did 
not abstain from bringing in a little classical allusion when 
an obvious opportunity afforded itself. And generally 
he was sedulous to say smart things, and tell good stories. 
In all which matters, except pedestrianism, his wife im- 
itated, or, it would be more correct to say, surpassed 
him : for she had more art of concealing her art, and her 
efforts were less obvious. The couple were never at a 
loss, never dull, never uninteresting, and, withal, showed 
such good nature and sincere desire to make their guest 
at home, that in three days Ashburner felt as if he had 
known them all his life. 

The knowledge that Harry Masters had a friend 
from abroad stopping with him, was the signal for let- 
ting loose all the hospitality of the neighbourhood — not 
a very large neighbourhood so far as it concernedv Mas- 
ters, though his country acquaintance was Somewhat less 
select than his town set. Small as it was, Ashburner 
received invitations enough in that week to have lasted 
him two months, and some of them without the formality 
of a previous introduction. He dined and supped in 
all directions ; but all his entertainers, though equally 
hospitable, did not make so favourable an impression on 
him as his original host had done. The younger men 
were mostly merchants, who came up daily from the city 
by a late train ; the older, retired bankers, who still 
amused themselves by little speculations. Their talk 
was of wines and the stock-market, with an occasional 
cross of trotting'horse. It was at one of their tables 
that Ashburner learned (what Harry himself had with 
difficulty refrained from telling him) that Masters once, 
as a great favour, let a rich Southerner have some half- 
dozen bottles of the Vanderlyn Sercial at twenty-five 


CATCHIlSrG A LION. 


79 


dollars per bottle. The women pleased him more ; most 
of the daughters were pretty, and some of the mothers 
retained beauty enough to convince him that all Ameri- 
can women do not grow old at thirty. Both mothers 
and daughters were always ready to keep up the conver- 
sation, never leaving him to make the running, as a 
sporting man might phrase it, but evidently considering 
it their duty to try to amuse the stranger. When Ash- 
burner next wrote to his respected governor, he* did not 
deem it unpatriotic, or beneath his dignity, to admit that 
he had passed one of the pleasant weeks in his life 
under the roof of his old Heidelberg acquaintance, Henry 
Masters. 


80 


CHAPTER IV. 

LIFE AT A W ATEKING-PL ACE — ACCI- 
DENTS WILL HAPPEN. 

‘ TTURRAH, old fellow !’ shouted Ashburner’s host, 
AX on the seventh morning of his visit ; ‘ here’s a let- 
ter from Carl. I have been expecting it, and he has been 
expecting us, some time. So prepare yourself to start 
to-morrow.’ 

‘ He can’t have been expecting me^ you know,’ sug- 
gested the guest, who, though remarkably domesticated 
for so short a time, hardly felt himself yet entitled to be 
considered one of the family. 

‘ Oh, us means Clara, and myself, and baby, and any 
friends we choose to bring, — or, I should say, who will 
do us the honour to accompany us. We are hospitable 
people, and the more the merrier. I know how much 
house-room Carl has ; there’s always a prophet’s cham- 
ber, as the parsons call it, for such occasions. You must 
come ; there’s no two ways about that. You will see 
two very fine women there , — nice persons^ as you would 
say: my sisters-in-law, Miss Yanderlyn, and Mrs. Carl 
Masters.’ 

‘ But, at any rate, would it not be better to write first, 
and apprize him of the additional visitor V 

‘We should be there a week before our letter. 
Ecoutez ! There is no post-office near us here, and my 
note would have to go to the city by a special messenger. 


ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. 


81 


Then the offices along the Hudson are perfectly antedi- 
luvian and barbarous, and mere mockery and delusion. 
Observe, I speak of the small local posts ; on the main 
routes letters travel fast enough. You may send one to 
Albany in nine hours ; to Carl’s place, which is abut two- 
thirds of the distance to Albany, it would take more 
than half as many days, — if, indeed, it arrived at all. I 
remember once propounding this problem in the Blun- 
der and Bluster : — ^ If a letter sent from New York to 
Hastings^ distance 22 miles^ never gets there^ how long 
will it take one to go from New York to Red Hook, dis- 
tance 110 miles V We are shockingly behind you in our 
postal arrangements ; there I give up the country. ‘ No, 
you mustn’t write, but come yourself,’ as Penelope said to 
Ulysses.’ 

Ashburner made no further opposition, and they were 
off the next morning accordingly. Before four a cart 
had started with the baggage,* and directions to take up 
Ashburner’s trunks and man-servant on the way. Soon 
after, the coachman and groom departed with the saddle- 
horses, trotters, and wagon ; for Masters, meditating 
some months’ absence, took with him the whole of his 
stud, except the black colt, who was strongly principled 
against going on the water, and had nearly succeeded 
in breaking his master’s neck on one occasion, when 
Harry insisted on his embarking. The long-tailed bays 
were left harnessed to the Rockaway, — a sort of light 
omnibus open at the sides, very like a char-a-hanc, ex- 
cept that the seats run crosswise, and capable' of accom- 
modating from six to nine persons : that morning it held 
six, including the maid and nurse. Masters took the 


* An American never uses the conversational teim Vaggage, but 
always speaks of his impediments as laggage. 


82 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


reins at a quarter-past five, and as the steamboat dock 
was situated at the very southern extremity of the city, 
and they had three miles of terrible pavement to tra- 
verse, besides nearly twelve of road, he arrived there 
just seven minutes before seven ; at which hour, to the 
second, the good boat Swallow was to take wing. In a 
twinkling the horses were unharnessed and embarked ; 
the carriage instantly followed them ; and Harry, after 
assuring himself that all his property, animate and in- 
animate, was safely shipped, had still time to purchase, 
for his own and his friend’s edification, the Jacobin^ the 
Blunder and Bluster^ the Inexpressible^ and other popu- 
lar papers, which an infinity of dirty boys were crying 
at the top of their not very harmonious voices. 

^ Our people do business pretty fast,’ said he in a 
somewhat triumphant tone. ‘ How this would astonish 
them on the Continent ! See there !’ as a family, still 
later than his own, arrived with a small mountain of 
trunks, all of which made their way on board as if they 
had wings. ^ When I travelled in Germany two years 
ago with Mrs. M. and her sister we had eleven packages, 
and it used to take half an hour at every place to weigh 
and ticket them beforehand, notwithstanding which one 
or two would get lost every now and then. In my own 
country I have travelled in all directions with large par- 
ties, never have been detained five minutes for baggage^ 
and never lost anything except once — an umbrella. Now 
we are going.’ 

The mate cried, ‘ All ashore !’ the newsboys and ap- 
ple-venders disappeared ; the planks were drawn in ; the 
long, spidery walking-beam began to play, and the Swal- 
low had started with her five hundred passengers. 

‘ Let us stroll around the boat ; I want to show you 
how we get up these things here.’ 


ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. 


83 


The ladies’ cabin on deck and the two general cabins 
below were magnificently furnished with the most expen- 
sive material, and in the last Parisian style, and this 
display and luxury were the more remarkable as the fare 
was but twelve shillings for a hundred and sixty miles. 
Ashburner admitted that the furniture was very elegant, 
but thought it out of place, and altogether too fine for 
the purpose. 

‘So you would say, probably, that the profuse and 
varied dinner we shall have is thrown away on the ma- 
jority of the passengers, who bolt it in half-an-hour. But 
there are some who habitually appreciate the dinner, and 
the furniture : it does them good, and it does the others 
no harm, — nay, it does them good, too. The wild man 
from the West, who has but recently learned to walk on 
his hind legs, is dazzled with these sofas and mirrors, 
and respects them more than he would more ordinary 
furniture. At any rate, it’s a fault on the right side. 
The furniture of an English hotel is enough to give a 
traveller a fit of the blues, such an extreme state <pf fus- 
tiness it is sure to be in. Did it ever strike you, by the 
way, how behindhand your countrymen are in the matter 
of hotels ? When a traveller passes from England into 
Belgium (putting France out of the question) it is like 
going from Purgatory into Paradise.’ 

‘ I don’t think I ever staid at a London hotel.’ 

‘ Of course not ; when your governor was out of town, 
and you not with him, you had your club. This is ex- 
actly what all travellers in England complain of Every- 
thing for the exclusive use of the natives is good — except 
the water, and of that you don’t use much in the way of 
a beverage ; everything particularly tending to the com- 
fort of strangers and sojourners — as the hotels, for in- 
stance, is bad, dear, and uncomfortable. I don’t think 


84 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


you like to have foreigners among you, for your arrange- 
ments are calculated to drive them out of the country as 
fast as possible !’ 

‘ Perhaps we don’t, as a general principle,’ said Ash- 
burner, smiling. 

‘ Well, I won’t say that it is not the wisest policy. 
We have suffered much by being too liberal to foreign- 
ers. But then you must not be surprised at what they 
say about you. However, it is not worth while to lose 
the view for our discussion. Come up-stairs and take 
a good look at the river of rivers.’ 

Ashburner felt no disposition to deny the beauty and 
grandeur of the Hudson. At first the shore was lined 
with beetling ramparts of traprock. After many miles 
of this, the clear water spread out into a great lake with 
apparently no egress. But on turning a promontory, 
the river stretched away nearly as wide as before, under 
wooded cliffs not dissimilar to those of the Rhine. Then 
came the picturesque Catskill mountains ; and near 
these Btarry was to stop, but Ashburner did not stop 
with him. At West Point the boat had taken up, among 
other passengers, two young officers of his acquaintance, 
then quartered in Canada. They were going to take the 
tour of the lakes, including, of^ course, Niagara, and 
offered Ashburner, if he would accompany them on this 
excursion first, to show him the lions of Canada after- 
wards. On consulting with Masters, he found that the 
trip would not occupy more than a month or five weeks, 
and that after that time the watering-place season would 
be at its height. 

‘ And it will be an excuse for my staying with Carl 
till August,’ Harry continued. ‘ The women are half 
crazy to be at Old port already. I would rather stay at 
Ravenswood. We shall expect you there at the end of 


. . t 



AstilD-aTueT’s Introduction to Benson 





ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. 


85 


July. But/ and here, for the first time since their 
acquaintance, Ashburner perceived a slight embarrass- 
ment in his manner, ^ don’t bring your friends.’ 

^ Oh, dear, no !’ said Ashburner, not comprehending 
what could have put such a thing into the other’s head, 
or what was coming next. 

^ I don’t mean to Bavenswood, but to Oldport ; that 
is, if you can help their coming. To tell you the truth, 
your university men, and literary men generally, are 
popular enough here, but your army is in very bad 
odour. The young fellows who come down among us 
frnm Canada behave shockingly. They don’t act like 
gentlemen or Christians.’ 

Ashburner hastened to assure him that Captain 
Blank and Lieutenant Dash were both gentlemen and 
Christians, in the ordinary acceptation of the terms, 
and had never been known to misconduct themselves in 
any way. 

‘ Doubtless, inasmuch as they are your friends, but 
the general principle remains the same. So many of 
your young officers have misconducted themselves, that 
the primd facie evidence is always against one of them, 
and he stands a chance of being coolly treated.’ 

Ashburner wanted to know what the young officers 
had done. 

‘ Everything they could do to go counter to the habits 
and prejudices of the people among whom they were, 
and to show their contempt of American society ; to act, 
in short, as if they were among uncivilized people. For 
instance, it is a custom at these watering-place hotels to 
dress for the table d^ hole. Now I do not think it alto- 
gether reasonable that a man should be expected to 
make his evening toilette by three in the afternoon, and, 
indeed, I do not strictly conform to the rule myself. 

5 


86 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


But these men came in flannel shirts and dirty shoes, 
and altogether in a state unfit for ladies’ company. 
Perhaps, however, we were too fastidious in this. But 
what do you say to a youngster’s seating himself upon a 
piano in the public parlour, while a lady is playing on it V 

Ashburner allowed that it was rather unceremonious. 

‘ By various similar acts, trivial, perhaps,’^' individu- 
ally, but forming a very disagreeable aggregate, these 
young men made themselves so unpopular, that one 
season the ladies, by common consent, refused to dance 
with any of them. But there is worse behind. These 
gentlemen, so stupid in a drawing-room, are sharp 
enough in borrowing money, and altogether oblivious of 
repaying it.’ 

Ashburner remembered the affair of Ensign Lawless, 
and made up his mind to undergo another repetition 
of it. 

‘ I don’t speak of my individual case ; the thing has 
happened fifty times. I could tell of a dozen friends 
who have been victimized in this way during the last 
three years. In fact, I believe that jowxjeunes militaires 
have formed a league to avenge the Mississippi bond- 
holders, and recover their lost money under the form of 
these nominal loans. You may think it poetic justice, 
but we New-Yorkers have no fancy to pay the Missis- 
sippians’ debts in this way.’ 

It would be foreign to our present purpose to accom- 
pany Ashburner in his Northwestern and Canadian 
tour. Suffice it to say, that he returned by the first of 
August, very much pleased, having seen many things 
well worth seeing, and experienced no particular annoy- 
ance, except the one predicted by Masters, that he 
sometimes had to take care of his servant. Neither, 
shall we say much of his visit to Bavenswood, where, 


ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. 


87 


indeed, he only spent a few hours, arriving there in the 
morning and leaving it in the afternoon of the same 
day, and had merely time to partake of a capital lunch, 
and to remark that his entertainer had a beautiful place 
and a handsome wife, and was something like his young- 
er brother, but more resembling an Englishman than 
any American he had yet seen. 

The party to Oldport was increased by the addition 
of Miss Vanderlyn, a tall, stylish girl, more striking 
than her sister, but less delicately beautiful. Though 
past twenty, she had been out only one season, having 
been kept back three years by various accidents. But 
though new to society, she had nothing of the book- 
muslin timidity about her ; nor was she at all abashpd 
by the presence of the titled foreigner. On the con- 
trary, she addressed him with perfect ease of manner, 
in French, professing, as an apology for conversing in 
that language, a fear that he might not be able to 
understand her English, — Farce que chez voiis^ on dit que 
nous autres Am^ricaines^ne parlous pas V Anglais comme 
il faut? 

As we are not writing a handbook or geographical 
account of the Northern States, it will not be necessary 
to mention where the fashionable watering-place of 
Oldport Springs is situated — not even what State it is 
in ; suffice it to say, that from Carl Masters’ place 
thither was a day’s journey, performed partly by steam- 
boat, partly by rail, and the last forty miles by stage- 
coach, or as the Americans say, ‘ for shortness,’ by stage. 
The water portion of their journey was soon over, nor 
did Ashburner much regret it. for he had been over 
this part of the route before on his way to Canada, and 
the river is not remarkably beautiful above the Catskill 
range. 


88 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


On taking the cars, Masters seized the opportunity 
to enlighten his friend with a quantity of railroad sta- 
tistics and gossip, such as, that the American trains 
averaged eighteen miles an hour, including stoppages, — 
about two miles short of the steam-boat average ; that 
they cost about one-fifth of an English road, or a dollar 
for a pound, which accounted for their deficiency in some 
respects ; that there were more than seven thousand 
miles of railroad in the country ; that there was no divi- 
sion of first, second, and third class, but that some lines 
had ladies’ cars — that is to say, cars for the gentlemen 
with ladies, and the ladies without gentlemen — and some 
had separate cars for the ladies and gentlemen of colour ; 
that there had been some attempts to get up smoking- 
cars after the German fashion, but the public mind was 
not yet fully prepared for it ; that one of the southern 
lines had tried the experiment of introducing a restau- 
rant^ and other conveniences, with tolerable success ; 
and other facts of more or less interest. Ashburner, for 
his part, on examining his ticket, found upon the back 
of it a list of all the stations on the route, with their 
times and distances — a very convenient arrangement; 
and he was also much amused at the odd names of some 
of the stations — Nineveh, Pompey, Africa, Cologne, and 
others equally incongruous. 

‘Don’t be afraid of laughing,’ said Masters, who 
guessed what he was smiling at, ‘ Whenever I am de- 
tained at a country tavern, if there duly happens to be a 
good-sized map of the United States there, I have 
enough to amuse me in studying the different styles of 
names in the different sections of the Union — different 
in style, but alike in impropriety. In our State, as you 
know, the fashion is for classical and oriental names. In 
New England there is a goodly amount of old English 


ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. 


89 


appellations, but often sadly misapplied ; for instance, an 
inland town will be called Falmouth, or Oldport, like 
the place we are going to.’ ^The aboriginal names, 
often very harmonious, had been generally displaced, 
except in Maine, where they are particularly long and 
jaw-breaking, such as Winnipiscogge^' and Chargogagog. 
Still we have some very pretty Indian names left in 
New- York ; Ontario^ for instance, and Oneida^ and Nia- 
gara^ which you who have been there know is 

Pronounced Niagara, 

To rhyme with staggerer^ 

And not Niagara, 

To rhyme with starer.' 

‘ What does Niagara mean 

‘ Broken water ^ I believe ; but one gets so many dif- 
ferent meanings for these names, from those who profess 
to know more or less about the native dialects, that you 
can never be certain. For instance, a great many will 
tell you, on Chateaubriand’s authority, that Mississippi 
means Father of waters. Some years ago, one of our In- 
dian scholars stated that this was an error ; that the lit- 
eral meaning of Mississippi was old-big-strong — not quite 
so poetic an appellation. I asked Albert Gallatin about 
it at the time — he was considered our best man on such 
subjects — and he told me that the word, or words, for 
the name is made up of two, signified the entire river. 
This is a fair specimen of the answers you get. I never 
had the same explanation of an Indian name given me 
by two men who pretended to understand the Indian 
languages.’ 

‘ What rule does a gentleman adopt in naming his 
country-seat when he acquires a new one, or is there any 
rule ?’ 


90 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


‘ There are two natural and proper expedients, one to 
take the nearest aboriginal name that is pretty and prac- 
ticable, the other to adopt the name from some natural 
feature. Of this latter we have two very neat examples 
in the residences of our two greatest statesmen. Clay 
and Webster, which are called Ashland and Marshfield 
— appellations exactly descriptive of the places. But 
very often mere fancy names are adopted, and frequently 
in the worst possible taste, by people too who have great 
taste in other respects. I wanted my brother to call this 
place Carlsruhe — that would have been literally appro- 
priate, though sounding oddly at first. But as it belong- 
ed originally to his father-in-law, it seemed but fair that 
his wife should have the naming of it, and she was so 
fond of the Bride of Lammermoor ! Well, I hope Carl 
will set up a few crows some day, just to give a little co- 
lour to the name. But, after all, what’s in the name? 
We are to stop at Constantinople ; if they give us a good 
supper and bed there (and they will unless the hotel is 
much altered for the worse within two years), they may 
call the town Beelzebub for me.’ 

But Masters reckoned without his host. They were 
fated to pass the night, not at Constantinople, but at the 
rising village of Hardscrabble, consisting of a large ho- 
tel and a small blacksmith’s shop. 

The contreiemps happened in this wise. The weather 
was very hot — it always is from the middle of June to 
the middle of September — but this day had been partic- 
ularly sultry, and towards evening oppressed nature 
found relief in a thunder-storm, and such a storm ! Ash- 
burner, though anything but a nervous man, was not 
without some anxiety, and the ladies were in a sad 
fright ; particularly Mrs. Masters, who threatened hys- 
terics, and required a large expenditure of Cologne and 


ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. 


91 


caresses to bring her round. At last the train came to 
a full stop at Hardscrabble, about thirty-six miles on the 
wrong side of Constantinople. Even before the usual 
three minutes’ halt was over our travellers suspected 
some accident ; their suspicions were confirmed when the 
three minutes extended to ten, and ultimately the con- 
ductor announced that just beyond this station half-a- 
mile of the road had been literally washed away, so that 
further progress was impossible. Fortunately by this 
time the rain had so far abated that the passengers were 
able to pass from the shelter of the cars (there was no 
covered way at the station) to that of the spacious hotel 
stoop without being very much wetted. Masters recol- 
lected that there was a canal at no great distance, which, 
though comparatively disused since the establishment of 
the railroad, still had some boats on it, and he thought 
it probable that they might finish their journey in this 
way — not a very comfortable or expeditious one, but 
better than standing still. It appeared, however, on in- 
quiry, that the canal was also put hors de combat by the 
weather, and nothing was to be done that way. Only 
two courses remained, either to go back to Clinton from 
which they had started, or to remain for the night where 
they were. 

‘ This hotel ought to be able to accommodate us all,’ 
remarked a fellow-passenger near them. 

He might well say so. The portico under which they 
stood (built of the purest white pine, and modelled after 
that of a Grecian temple with eight columns) fronted at 
least eighty feet. The house was several stories high, 
and, if the front were, anything more than a mere shell, 
must contain rooms for two hundred persons. How the 
building came into its present situation was a mystery 
to Ashburner ; it looked as if it had been transported 


92 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAiq’ SOCIETY. 


bodily from some large town, and set down alone in the 
wilderness. The probability is, that some speculators, 
judging from certain signs that a town was likely to 
arise there soon, had built the hotel so as to be all ready 
for it. 

There was no need to question the landlord : he had 
already been diligently assuring every one that he could 
accommodate all the passengers, who indeed did not ex- 
ceed a hundred in number. 

Logicans tell us, that a great deal of the trouble and 
misunderstanding which exists in this naughty world, 
arises from men not defining their terms in the outset. 
The landlord of Hardscrabble had evidently some pecu- 
liar ideas of his own as to the meaning of the term ac- 
commodate, The real state of the case was, that he had 
any quantity of rooms, and a tolerably liberal supply of 
bedsteads, but his stock of bedding was by no means in 
proportion ; and he was, therefore, compelled to multiply 
it by process of division, giving the hair mattress to one, 
the feather bed to another, the straw bed to a third ; and 
so with the pillows and bolsters as far as they would go. 
This was rather a long process, even with American ac- 
tivity, especially as some of the hands employed were 
temporarily called off to attend to the supper table. 

The meal, which was prepared and eaten with great 
promptitude, was a mixture of tea and supper. Yery 
good milk, pretty good tea, and pretty bad coffee, repre- 
sented the drinkables ; and for solids, there was a plen- 
tiful provision of excellent bread and butter, new cheese, 
dried beef in very thin slices, or rather ginger- 

bread, dough-nuts, and other varieties of homemade cake, 
sundry preserves, and some pickles. The waiters were 
young women — some of them very pretty and lady-like. 
The Masters kept up a conversation with each other and 


ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. 


98 


Ashburner in French, which he suspected to be a cus 
tomary practice of ‘ our set ’ when in public, as indeed it 
was, and one which tended not a little to make them un- 
popular. A well-dressed man opposite looked so fiercely 
at them, that the Englishman thought he might have 
partially comprehended their discourse and taken an of- 
fence at it, till he was in a measure re-assured by seeing 
him eat pound-cake and cheese together — a singularity 
of taste about which he could not help making a remark 
to Masters. 

‘ Oh, that’s nothing,’ said Harry. ‘ Did you never, 
when you were on the lakes, see them eat ham and mo- 
lasses ? It is said to be a western practice : I never was 
there ; but I’ll tell you what I have seen. A man with 
cake, cheese, smoked-beef, and preserves, all on his plate 
together, and paying attention to them indiscriminately. 
He was not an American either, but a Creole Frenchman 
of New Orleans, who had travelled enough to know 
better.’ 

Soon after supper most of the company seemed* in- 
clined bedwards ; but there were no signs of beds for 
some time. Masters’ party, who were more amused 
than fatigued by their evening’s experience, spread the 
carpet of resignation, and lit the cigar of philosophy. 
All the passengers did not take it so quietly. One tall, 
melancholy-faced man, who looked as if he required 
twice the ordinary amount of sleep, was especially 
anxious to know ^ where they were going to put him.’ 

‘ Don’t be afraid, sir,’ said the landlord, as he shot 
across the room on some errand ; ^ we’ll tell you before 
you go to bed.’ With which safe prediction the discon- 
tented one was fain to content himself. 

At length, about ten, or half past, the rooms began to 
be in readiness, and their occupants to be marched off to 
S’*' 


94 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


them in squads of six or eight at a time, — the long cor- 
ridors and tall staircases of the hotel requiring consider- 
able pioneering and guidance. Masters’ party came 
among the last. Having examined the room assigned to 
the ladies, Harry reported it to contain one bed and half 
a washstand ; from which he and Ashburner had some 
misgivings as to their own accommodation, but were not 
exactly prepared for what followed, when a small boy 
with a tallow candle and face, escorted them up three 
flights of stairs into a room containing two small beds 
and a large spittoon, and not another single article of 
furniture. 

‘ I say, boy !’ quoth Masters, in much dudgeon, turn- 
ing to their chamberlain, ^ suppose we want to wash in 
the morning, what are we to do V 

‘ I don’t know, sir,’ answered the boy; and deposit- 
ing the candle on the floor, he disappeared in the dark- 
ness. 

‘ By Jove f’ ejaculated the fastidious youth, ^ there 
isn’t as much as a hook in the wall to hang one’s coat on. 
It’s lucky we brought up our carpet-bags with us, else 
we s w uld have to look out a clean spot on the floor for 
our clothes.’ 

Ashburner was not very much disconcerted. He 
had travelled in so many countries, notwithstanding his 
youth, that he could pass his nights anyhow. In fact he 
had never been at a loss for sleep in his life, except on 
one occasion, when, in Galway, a sofa was assigned to him 
at one side of a small parlour, on the other side of which 
three Irish gentlemen were making a night of it. 

So they said their prayers, and went to bed, like good 
boys. But their slumbers were not unbroken. Ash- 
burner dreamed that he was again in Venice, and that 
the musquitoes of that delightful city, of whose venom- 


ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. 


95 


ousness and assiduity he retained shuddering recollec- 
tions, were making an onslaught upon him in great num- 
bers ; while Masters awoke towards morning with a 
great outcry : in apology for which he solemnly assured 
his friend, that two seconds before he was in South Africa, 
where a lion of remarkable size and ferocity had caught 
him by the leg. And on rising, they discovered some 
spots of blood on the bed-clothes, showing that their 
visions had not been altogether without foundation in 
reality. 

The Hardscrabble hotel, grand in its general outlines, 
had overlooked the trifling details of wash-stands and 
chamber crockery. Such of these articles as it did pos- 
sess, were very properly devoted to the use of the ladies ; 
and accordingly Ashburner and Masters, and forty-five 
more, performed their matutinal 'ablutions over a tin 
bason in the bar-room, where Harry astonished the na- 
tives by the production of his own particular towel and 
pocket-comb. The weather had cleared up beautifully, 
the railroad was repaired, and the train ready to start as 
soon as breakfast was over. After this meal, as miscel- 
laneous as their last night’s supper, while the passengers 
were discharging their reckoning, Ashburner noticed 
that his friend was unusually fussy and consequential, 
asked several questions, and made several remarks in a 
loud tone, and altogether seemed desirous of attracting 
attention. When it came to his turn to pay, he told out 
the amount, not in the ordinary dirty bills, but in hard, 
ringing half-dollars, which had the effect of drawing still 
further notice upon him. 

‘ Five dollars and a quarter,’ said Masters, in a mea- - 
sured and audible tone ; ‘ and, landlord, here’s a quarter 
extra.’ 

The landlord looked up in surprise ; so did the two 
or three men standing nearest Harry. 


96 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


‘ It’s to buy beef with, to feed ’em. Feed ’em well 
now, don’t forget ! ’ 

" Feed ’em ! feed whd ?’ and the host looked as if he 
thought his customer crazy. 

‘ Feed who ? Why, look here ! ’ and bending over 
the counter, Harry uttered a portentous monosyllable, 
in a pretended whisper, but really as audible to the by- 
standers as a stage aside. Three or four of those near- 
est exploded. 

^ Yes, feed ’em well before you put anybody into your 
beds again, or you’ll have to answer for the death of a 
fellow-christian some day, that’s all. Good morning ! ’ 
And taking his wife under his arm, Masters stalked off 
to the cars with a patronising farewell nod, amid a sym- 
pathetic roar, leaving the host irresolute whether to 
throw a decanter after him, or to join in the general 
laugh. 


97 


CHAPTEE V. 

LIFE AT A WATERIKG-PLACE — OLDPORT 
SPRINGS. 

^ TT OLD on a minute,’ said Harry, as they were about 
JLL to take the stage, after a very fair three-o’clock 
dinner at Constantinople (the Occidental, not the Orien- 
tal city of that name) ; ‘ there goes an acquaintance of 
ours whom you must know. He has arrived by the 
Westfield train, doubtless.’ 

Away sped Masters after the acquaintance, arm-in- 
arm with whom he shortly returned, and with all the ex- 
ultation of an American who has brought two lions into 
the same cage, introduced M. le Yicomte Yincent Le 
Eoi to the Hon. Edward Ashburner. 

Ashburner was rather puzzled at Le Eoi, whose per- 
sonal appearance did not in any way answer either to 
his originally conceived idea of a Frenchman, or to the 
live specimens he had thus far met with. The Yicomte 
looked more like an Englishman, or perhaps like the 
very best kind of Irishman. He was a middle-sized 
man of thirty or thereabout, with brown hair and a fiorid 
complexion ; and very quietly dressed, his clothes being 
neither obtrusively new nor cut with any ultra-artistic 
pretension. Except his wearing a moustache and (of 
course) not speaking English, there was nothing conti- 
nental about his outward man, or the first impression he 
gave of himself. Fortunately, he was also bound for the 


98 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


springs, so that Ashburner woul(J have abundant oppor- 
tunity to study his character, if so disposed. 

The stage in which our tourists were to embark was 
not unlike a French diligence, except that it had but 
one compartment instead of three ; in which compart- 
ment there were three seats, and on each seat more or 
less room for three persons, and two more could sit with 
the driver. All the baggage was carried on the top. 
The springs were made like coach springs, or C- springs, 
as they are always called in America (just as in England 
a pilot-coat is called a P-jacket), only they were upright 
and perpendicular to the axeltree instead of curving ; 
and the leathern belts connected with them, on which the 
carriage swung, were of the thickest and toughest descrip- 
tion. As the party, with the addition of Le Poi, amount- 
ed to eight. Masters managed, by a little extra expendi- 
ture of tin and trouble,, to secure the whole of one vehicle, 
and for the still greater accommodation of the ladies and 
child, the gentlemen were to sit on the box, two at a 
time by turns. Masters’ first object was to get hold of 
the reins, for which end he began immediately to talk 
around the driver ab< ut things in general. From the 
price of horses they diverged to the prospects of various 
kinds of business, and thence slap into the politics of the 
country. The driver was a stubborn Locofoco, and Mas- 
ters did not disdain to enter into an elaborate argument 
with him. Ashburner, who then occupied the other 
box seat, was astonished at the man’s statistical know- 
ledge, the variety of information he possessed upon local 
topics, and his accurate acquaintance with the govern- 
ment and institutions of his country. It occurred to 
him to prompt Masters, through the convenient medium 
of French, to sound him about England and European 
politics, This Harry did, not immediately, lest he might 


OLDPORT SPRINGS. 


99 


suspect the purport of their conversational interlude, hut 
by a dexterous approach to the point after sufficient pre- 
liminary ; and it then appeared that he had lumped ‘ the 
despotic powers of the old world ’ in a heap together, 
and supposed the Queen of England to be on a par with 
the Czar of Russia as regarded her personal authority 
and privileges. However, when Masters set him right 
as to the difference between a limited and an absolute 
monarchy, he took the information in very good part, lis- 
tened to it attentively, and evidently made a mental note 
of it for future reference. 

The four-horse team was a good strong one, but the 
stage with its load heavy enough, and the roads, after 
the recent storm, still heavier, besides being a succes- 
sion of hills. The best they could do was to make six 
miles an hour, and they would not have made three but 
for a method of travelling down hill, entirely foreign to 
European ideas on the subject. When they arrived at 
the summit there was no talk of putting on the drag, 
nor any drag to put on, but away the horses went, first 
at a rapid trot, and soon at full gallop ; by which means 
the equipage acquired sufficient momentum to carry it 
part of the way up the next hill before the animals re- 
lapsed into the slow walk which the steepness of the 
ascent imposed upon them. Indeed, this part of the route 
would have been a very tedious one (for the country 
about was almost entirely devoid of interest), had it not 
been for Le Roi, who came out in great force. He laugh- 
ed at everything and with everybody; told stories, and 
good ones, continuously, and only ceased telling stories 
to break forth into song. In fine, he amused the ladies 
so much that when he took his turn on the box they 
missed him immediately, and sent Masters outside again 
on the first opportunity ; whereat the Yicomte, being 


100 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

very much flattered, waxed livelier and merrier than 
ever, and kept up a constant fire of jest and ditty. As 
to Ashburner, who had a great liking for fresh air, and 
an equal horror of a small child in a stage-coach, he 
remained outside the whole time ; for which the fair 
passengers set him down as an insensible youth, who did 
not know how to appreciate good company : until the 
evening becoming somewhat chilly by comparison with 
the very hot day they had undergone, both he and Harry 
took refuge in the interior, and a very jolly party they 
all made. 

While they were outside together. Masters had been 
giving Ashburner some details about Le Roi — in fact, a 
succinct biography of him ; for be it noted, that every 
New-Yorker is able to produce off-hand a minute his- 
tory of every person, native or foreign, at all known in 
society : for which ability he is indebted partly to the 
inquisitive habits of the people, partly to their communi- 
cative disposition, partly to their remarkable memory of 
small particulars, and partly to a fine imagination and 
power of invention, which must be experienced to be 
fully appreciated. Masters, we say, had been telling his 
friend the story of his other friend or acquaintance ; 
how he was of good family and no fortune ; how he had 
written three novels and three thousand or more feuille- 
tons ; how he had travelled into some out-of-the-way part 
of Poland, where no one had ever been before or since, 
and about which he was, therefore, at liberty to say what 
he pleased ; how, besides his literary capabilities, such 
as they were, he played, and sang, and danced, and 
sketched — all very well for an amateur ; how he was al- 
together a very agreeable and entertaining man, and, as 
such, was supposed to have been sent out by a sort of 
mutual-benefit subscription-club, which existed at Paris 


OLDPOET SPEINGS. 


101 


for the purpose of marrying its members to heiresses in 
different countries. Ashburner had once heard rumours 
of such a club in Germany, but was never able to obtain 
any authentic details concerning it, or to determine 
whether it was anything more than a traveller’s tradi- 
tionary legend. Even Masters was at fault here, and, 
indeed, he seemed rather to tell the club part of the 
story as a good joke than to believe it seriously himself. 

As they approached the termination of their journey, 
their talk naturally turned more and more on the 
Springs. The Vicomte was in possession of the latest 
advices thence ; the arrivals and expected arrivals, and the 
price-current of stock ; that is, of marriageable young 
gentlemen, and all other matters of gossip ; how the 
whole family of the Robinsons was there in full force, 
with an unlimited amount of Parisian millinery ; how 
Gerard Ludlow was driving four-in-hand, and Lowenberg 
had given his wife no end of jewelry; how Mrs. Har- 
rison, who ought not to have been (not being of our set), 
nevertheless was the great lioness of the season ; how 
Miss Thompson, the belle expectant, had renounced the 
Springs altogether, and shut herself up at home some- 
where among the mountains — all for unrequited love of 
Hamilton Bell, as was charitably reported ; last, but not 
least, how Tom Edwards had invented six new figures 
for the German cotillon. Ashburner did not at first 
altogether understand the introduction of this personage 
into such good company, supposing from his familiar 
abbreviation and Terpsichorean attributes, that he must 
be the fashionable dancing-master of Oldport, or perhaps 
of New York ; but he was speedily given to understand 
that, on the contrary, Mr. Edwards was a gay bachelor of 
good family and large fortune, who, in addition to gam- 
bling, intriguing, and other pleasant propensities, had an 


102 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

insatiable passion for the dance, and was accustomed to 
rotate morning, noon, and night, whenever he was not 
gambling, &c. as aforesaid. ‘ And,’ continued Masters, 
« I’ll lay you any bet you please, that the first thing we 
see on arriving at our hotel will be Tom Edwards dan- 
cing the Polka ; unless, indeed, he happen to be dancing 
the Redowa.’ 

‘Yery likely,’ said Mrs. Masters, ‘seeing we shall 
arrive there at ten o’clock, and this is a ball night.’ 

Both Harry and his wife were right ; they arrived at 
half-past ten, just as the ball was getting into full swing. 
On the large portico in front of the large hotel opened a 
large room, with large windows down to the floor, — the 
dining-room of the establishment, now cleared for dan- 
cing purposes. All the idlers of Oldport, male and 
female, black and white, congregated at these windows 
and thronged the portico ; and almost into the very 
midst of this crowd our party was shot, baggage and all. 
While Ashburner was looking out of a confused heap of 
people and luggage, he heard one of the assistant loafers 
say to another, ‘ Look at Mr. Edwards ! ’ Profiting by 
the information not originally intended for him, he 
followed the direction of the speaker’s nose, and beheld 
a little showily- dressed man flying down the room with 
a large showily-dressed woman, going the poursuite of 
the Redowa at a terrific rate. So that, literally, the first 
thing he saw in Oldport was Tom Edwards dancing. 
But there was no opportunity to make a further study 
of this, ‘ one of the most remarkable men among us,’ for 
the party had to look up their night quarters. Masters 
had dispatched in advance to Mr. Grabster, proprietor 
of the Bath Hotel at Oldport Springs, a very particular 
letter, stating the number of his party, the time he meant 
to be there, and the number of rooms he wanted, and had 


OLDPOKT SPEINGS. 


103 


also sent his horses on ahead ; but though the animals 
had arrived safe and found stable-room, there was no 
preparation for their master. Ashburner, at the request 
of the ladies, followed Masters into the ojQGice (for the 
Bath Hotel being, nominally at least, the first house in 
the place, had its bar-room and office separate), and found 
Harry in earnest expostulation with a magnificently- 
dressed individual, whom he took for Mr. Grabster 
himself, but who turned out to be only that high and 
mighty gentleman’s head bookkeeper. The letter had 
been dispatched so long beforehand, that, even at the 
rate of American country posts, it ought to have arrived, 
but no one knew anything about it. Both the young 
men suspected — uncharitably, perhaps, but not altoge- 
ther unnaturally — that Mr. Grabster and his aids, 
finding a prospect of a full season, had not thought it 
worth their while to trouble themselves about the appli- 
cation, or to keep any rooms. Ashburner suggested 
trying another hotel, but the roads were muddy and 
vehicles scarce at that time of night, so that altogether 
there seemed a strong probability of their being com- 
pelled to ^ camp out ’ on the portico. But it was not in 
Masters to ‘give it up so.’ He possessed, as we have 
already hinted, that faculty so alarmingly common in his 
country, which polite people call oratory, and vulgar 
people the ‘gift of the gab ;’ and he was not the man to 
throw away the opportunity of turning any of his gifts to 
account. Warming with his subject, he poured out upon 
the gorgeously-attired Mr. Black such a flood of concili- 
atory and expostulatory eloquence that that gentleman 
absolutely contrived to find some accommodation for 
them. The ladies, child, and servants were bundled 
together into one tolerably large room, in the third story. 
Masters had a sort of corner-cupboard in the fourth. 


104 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


that might, perhaps, have accommodated a mouse with a 
small family; and to Ashhurner and Le Roi were 
assigned two small chambers in the fifth. As to the 
baggage, that was all piled up in the office, with the 
exception of a few indispensable articles. Supper was 
out of the question, there being no room to eat it in 
because of the dancers. The ladies did not want supper ; 
they only regretted not being able to unpack their 
trunks and dress for the ball then and there going on : 
their eyes lighted up at the sound of the music, and their 
little feet began to beat the fioor incontinently. The 
gentlemen took a drink all round by way of substitute 
for something more solid. Ashhurner had mounted to his 
dormitory — no small journey — and was sitting on his 
bed, wishing he had some contrivance for pulling off all 
his clothes at once without the trouble of removing them 
piece by piece, when he heard in the passage the voice of 
Le Eoi, quantum matatus ah illo ! The Yicomte had 
sworn up all his own language, and was displaying a 
knowledge of English expletives that quite surprised 
his fellow-traveller. On investigation, the cause of his 
wrath proved to be this. A semi-civilized Irish waiter 
had shown him to No. 296, in accordance with Mr. 
Black’s directions. But Mr. Black, in the multiplicity 
of his affairs, had forgotten that No. 296 was already 
tenanted, to wit, by a Western traveller, who did, indeed, 
intend to quit it by an early stage next morning, but had 
not the least idea of giving up his quarters before that 
time ; and accordingly, as if from a presentiment that 
some attempt would be made to dislodge him, had, in 
addition to the ordinary not very strong fastenings of 
the door, so barricaded it with trunks and furniture, that 
it could have stood a considerable amount of siege. The 
waiter had gone off, leaving Le Boi to shift for himself. 


OLDPORT SPRINGS. 


106 


Bells were scarce in the upper stories of the Bath Hotel, 
nor was there any light throughout the long corridor ex- 
cept the one tallow candle which his useless guide had 
deposited on the floor. Utterly upset at the idea of 
having to tramp down four pair of stairs and back again 
in search of accommodation, the unlucky Gaul was seek- 
ing a momentary relief in the manner above stated, when 
Ashburner came to the rescue. His bed happened to be 
rather a large one — so large, comparatively, that it was a 
mystery how it had ever found its way into the little 
room, the four walls of which seemed to-^have grown or 
been built around it ; and this bed he instantly proposed 
to share with Le Boi for the night. The Frenchman 
merciid^ and couldn’t thing of such a thing for flve 
minutes, edging into the room and pulling off his coat 
and boots all the time ; then he gave an exemplification 
of cessante causa^ for all hig rage vanished in a moment, 
and he was the same exuberantly good-natured and pro- 
fusely loquacious man that he had been all day. On he 
streamed in a perpetual flow of talk long after both were 
in bed, until Ashburner began to feel as a man might to 
whom some fairy had given a magical instrument which 
discoursed sweet music at first, but could never be made 
to stop playing. And when at length the Yicomte, 
having lighted on the subject of women, poured out an 
infinity of adventures with ladies of all countries, of all 
which stories Vincent Le Boi was, of course, the hero, 
his fellow-traveller, unable to help being disgusted at his 
vanity and levity, turned round to the wall, and without 
considering whether he was acting in accordance with 
bienseance^ fell fast asleep in the midst of one of the most 
thrilling narratives. 

When Ashburner awoke next morning, the first 
thing he was conscious of was Le Boi talking. It 


106 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

required very little exercise of the imagination to sup- 
pose that he had been going on uninterruptedly all 
night. Afterwards he became aware of a considerable 
disturbance, evidently originating in the lower story of 
the house, but sufficiently audible all over it, which he 
put down to the account of numerous new arrivals. By 
the time they had completed their toilettes (which did 
not take very long, for the room being just under 
the roof, was of a heat that made it desirable for them 
to evacuate it as soon as possible), Masters made his 
appearance. He had obtained possession of his bag- 
gage, and arrayed himself in the extreme of summer 
costume : — a white grass-cloth coat, about the consist- 
ency of blotting-paper, so transparent that the lilac 
pattern of his check shirt was distinctly visible through 
the arms of it ; white duck vest, white drilled trousers, 
long-napped white hat, a speckled cravat to match his 
shirt, and highly varnished shoes, with red and white 
striped silk stockings, — altogether very fresh and inno- 
cent-looking. He came to show them the principal 
spring, which was not far from the hotel — ^just a pleasant 
walk before breakfast, though it was not likely they 
would meet many people so early on account of last 
night’s ball. 

am afraid your quarters were not very comfort- 
able,’ said Harry, as the three strolled arm-in-arm down 
a sufficiently sandy road ; ‘ but we shall have better 
rooms before dinner to day.’ 

‘ The house must be very full,’ Ashburner remarked ; 
^ and were there not a great many arrivals this morn- 
ing ? From the noise I heard, I thought at least fifty 
people had come.’ 

‘ No ; I glanced at the book, and there were not a 
dozen names on it. Hallo !’ and Masters swore roundly 


OLDPOKT SPKIN-GS. 


107 


in Spanish, apparently forgetting that his friend under- 
stood that language. 

Ashburner looked up, and saw meeting them a large 
Frenchman and a small Irish boy. The Frenchman 
had an immense quantity of hair of all sorts on his face, 
nearly hiding his features, which, as what was visible of 
them had a particularly villanous air, was about the best 
thing he could have done to them ; and on his head he 
carried a something of felt, which indisputably proved the 
proposition that matter may exist without form. The 
Irish youth sported a well-meant but not a very success- 
ful attempt at a moustache, and a black cloth cap pitched 
on one side of his head. In other respects they were 
attired in the usual costume of an American snob ; that 
is to say, a dress-coat and a full suit of black at seven in 
the morning. Ashburner noticed that Masters spit os- 
tentatiously while passing them ; and after passing he 
swore again, this time in downright English. 

Le Roi had seen in his acquaintance with European 
watering-places a goodly amount of scamps and black- 
legs, and Ashburner was not without some experience 
of the sort, so that they were not disposed to be curious 
about one blackguard more or less in a place of the 
kind ; but these two fellows had such a look of unmitiga- 
ted rascality, that both the foreigners glanced inquir- 
ingly at their friend, and were both on the point of 
asking some question, when he anticipated their desire. 

‘ God forgive me for swearing, but it is too provoking 
to meet these loafers in respectable quarters. The an- 
cients used to think their journey spoiled if they met an 
unclean animal on starting, and I feel as if my whole 
stay here would go wrong after meeting these animals the 
first thing in the first morning.’ 

‘ Mais qui sont ils donc^ ces vauriens V asked Le Roi. 


108 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


‘ The Frenchman is a deported convict, who is doing 
us the honour to serve out his time here ; the Irishman 
is a refugee, T believe. They have come here to report 
for The Sewer? 

They cooled their virtuous indignation in the spring, 
and were returning. 

‘ Hallo, Masters ! hallo ! I thought that was you ! ’ 
shouted somebody, a quarter of a mile off, from the hotel 
steps. 

^ Ah/ said Harry, ‘ I understand now why you heard 
so much noise this morning. Bird Simpson has arrived.’ 

Mr. Simpson, popularly known as ‘ the bird ’ (why no 
one could tell exactly, but people often get such names 
attached to them for some inexplicable reason), came on 
a half-run to meet them. He was a tall, showy, and 
rather handsome, though not particularly graceful man ; 
very flashily got up in a blue cutaway with gilt buttons, 
wide blue stripes down the sides of his white trousers, 
a check shirt of enormous crimson pattern, and a red 
and white cravat ; no waistcoat, and wide embroidered 
braces, the work of some lady friend. He seemed to 
have dressed himself on the principle of the tricolor, and 
to have carried it out in his face — his cheeks being very 
red, his eyes very blue, and his hair very white. After 
having pump-handled Masters’ arm for some time, he 
made an attack on Le Hoi, whom he just knew by name, 
and inquired if he had just come de L’' autre cote^ meaning 
the other side of the Atlantic, according to a common 
New-York idiom ; but the Vicomte not unnaturally took it 
to mean from the other side of the road, and gave a corres- 
ponding answer in English as felicitous as Mr. Simpson’s 
French. Then he digressed upon Ashburner, whom he 
saw to be an Englishman, in so pointed a manner that 
Masters was obliged to introduce them ; and the intro- 


OLDPOKT SPRINGS. 


109 


duction was followed bj an invitation on Simpson’s part 
to the company to take a drink, which they did, some- 
what to the consternation of the Frenchman, who knew 
not what to make of iced brandy and mint before break- 
fast. Then Simpson, having primed himself for the 
morning meal, set about procuring it, and his departure 
visibly relieved Masters, who was clearly not proud of 
his acquaintance. Le Roi also went after his breakfast, 
taking care to get as far as possible from the corner of 
the room where Simpson was. 

‘ There,’ said Masters, ‘ is a very fair specimen of 
‘second set.’ He is B, No. 1, rather a great man in his 
own circle, and imports French geods. To hear him 
talk about French actresses and eating-houses you would 
think him a ten years’ resident of that city, instead of 
having been there perhaps four times in his life, a week 
each time. But you know we Americans have a wonder- 
ful faculty of seeing a great deal in a little time. Just 
so with Italy ; he was there two months, and professes 
to know all about the country and the people. But he 
doesn’t know the set abroad or at home. Sometimes you 
meet him at a ball, where he does his duty about supper 
time ; but you will never see him dancing with, or talk- 
ing to, the ladies who are ‘of us.’ Nevertheless, they 
will avail themselves of his services sometimes, when they 
want to buy silks at wholesale prices, or to have some- 
thing smuggled for them ; for he is the best-natnred man 
in the world. And, after all. he is not more given to 
scandal than the exquisites, and is a great deal honester 
and truer. Once I caught a fever out on the north-east- 
ern boundary, and had not a friend with me, or any means 
of getting help. This man nursed me like a brother, 
and put himself to no end of trouble for me until we 
could fetch Carl on. I would certainly rather have been 


110 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


under such an obligation to some other men I know than 
to Simpson ; but having incurred it, I do not think it 
can be justly paid off with a ‘ glad-to-know-you-when-I’m- 
at-Bath-again ’ acquaintance ; and I feel bound to be ci- 
vil to him, though he does bother me immensely at times 
with his free-and-easy habits. — walking into my parlour 
with his hat on and cigar in his mouth ; chaffing me or 
my wife, in language about as elegant as an omnibus dri- 
ver’s ; or pawing ladies about in a way that he takes for 
gallantry. Talking of ladies, I wish mine would show 
themselves for breakfast. Ah, here are two men you 
must know ; they are good types of two classes of our 
beaux — the considerably French and the slightly English 
— the former class the more numerous, you are probably 
aware. Mr. Bell, Mr. Ashburner — Mr. Ashburner, Mr. 
Sumner.’ 

Hamilton Bell was a tall, handsome man, some few 
years on the wrong side of thirty, broader-shouldered 
and deeper-chested than the ordinary American model, 
elaborately but quietly dressed, without any jewellery or 
showy patterns. The was something very Parisian in 
his get-up and manner, yet you would never take him for 
a Frenchman, still less for a Frenchified-Englishman. 
But he had the look of a man who had lived in a gay 
capital, and quite fast enough for his years ; his fine hair 
was beginning to go on the top of his head, and his face 
wanted freshness and colour. His manner, slightly re- 
served at first, rapidly warmed into animation, and his 
large dark eyes gave double expression to whatever he 
said. His very smallest talk was immensely impressive. 
He would tell a stranger that he was happy to make his 
acquaintance with an air that implied all the Spaniard’s 
mi casa a la disposicion de usted^ and meant about as 
much ; and when you saw him from the loarquet of the 


OLDPORT SPRINGS. 


Ill 


Opera talking to some young lady in the boxes, you 
would have imagined that he was making a dead set at 
her, when in fact he was only uttering some ordinary 
meteorological observation. Apart from his knack of 
looking and talking sentiment, he had no strongly-mark- 
ed taste or hobby : danced respectably, but not often ; 
knew enough about horses to pick out a good one when 
he wanted a mount for a riding-party ; drank good wine 
habitually, without being pedantic about the different 
brands of it ; and read enough of the current literature 
of the day to be able to keep up a conversation if he fell 
among a literary circle. He was not a marrying man, 
partly because his income, sufficient to provide him with 
all bachelor luxuries, was not large enough to support 
a wife handsomely ; partly because that a man should tic 
himself to one woman for life was a thing he could not 
conceive, much less practise : but he very much affected 
the society of the softer sex, and was continually amusing 
himself with some young girl or young wife. He rather 
preferred the latter — it was less compromising ; still he- 
had no objection to victimize an innocent dd)utanie^ and 
leave her more or less broken-hearted. (It must be ob- 
served, however, for the credit of American young ladies, 
that they are not addicted to dying of this complaint, so 
often fatal in novels ; many of Hamilton’s victims had re- 
covered and grown absolutely fat upon it, and married 
very successfully.) Wherever there was a fianc^e^ ora 
probable fiancee^ or a married belle with an uxorious hus- 
band, — in short, wherever he could make himself look dan- 
gerous and another man jealous or foolish, he came out 
particularly strong ; at the same time, being very adroit 
and not over belligerent, he always contrived to stop or 
get out of the way in time if the other party showed 
open signs of displeasure. 


112 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


Frank Summer was rather shorter then Bell, rather 
younger, and rather more dressed. He had the same 
broad shoulders, which in America, where most of the 
beaux are either tall and thin or short and thin, find 
favour with the ladies ; just as blondes create a sensa- 
tion in southern countries, because they are so seldom 
seen. In almost all other particulars the two men were 
totally unlike, and Sumner might have passed for an 
English gentleman put into French clothes. He was 
reserved in his conversation, and marked in the expres- 
sion of his likes and dislikes. With no more intention 
of marrying than Bell, he took care never to make love 
to any woman, and if any woman made love to him he 
gave her no encouragement. He was not richer than 
Bell, not so good-looking, and certainly not so clever, 
but more respected and more influential ; for the solid 
and trustworthy parts of his character, backed by a 
bull-dog courage and an utter imperturbability, got the 
better in the long run of the other’s more brilliant qual- 
ities. 

Some of these things Ashburner observed for him- 
self, some of them Masters told him after Bell and Sum- 
ner, who did not ask the stranger to take a drink, had 
passed on. He had noticed that the latter’s manner, 
though perfectly civil, was very cold compared with the 
empressement which the former had exhibited. 

‘ He doesn’t like your countrymen,’ said Harry, ‘ and 
nothing can vex him more than to be told, what is liter- 
ally the truth, that he resembles an Englishman in 
many respects. I believe it is about the only thing that 
can vex him. What an immovable man it is ! I have 
seen a woman throw a lighted cigar into his face, and 
another cut off one end of his moustache (that was when 
we were both younger, and used to see some queer 


OLDPORT SPRINGS. 


113 


scenes abroad), and a servant drop half a tureen of soup 
over him, and none of these things stirred him. Once 
at Naples, I recollect, he set our chimney on fire. Such 
a time we had of it ; every one in the house tumbling 
into our room, from they?zccoZo, with no coat and half a 
pair of pants, to the proprietor in his dressing-gown and 
spectacles — women calling on the Virgin, men running 
after water — and there sat Frank, absolutely radiating 
off so much coolness that he imparted a portion of it to 
me, and we sat through the scene as quietly as if they 
had only been laying the cloth for dinner. A rum pair 
they must have thought us ! The day before we had 
astonished the waiter by lighting brandy over a pud- 
ding. I suppose we left them under the impression that 
the Anglo-Saxons had a propensity to set fire to every- 
thing they came in contact with.’ 

‘ It is very odd that so many of your people should 
be afraid of resembling us, and take the French type for 
imitation in preference to the English. The original 
feeling of gratitude to France for having assisted you in 
the war of independence does not seem sufficient to ac- 
count for it.’ 

‘ Certainly not ; for that feeling would naturally di- 
minish in each succeeding generation, whereas the Galli- 
cism of our people is on the increase, — in fact its origin 
is of comparatively recent date. But we really are more 
like the French in some senses. Politically, the Ameri- 
can is very Anglo-Saxon. So he is morally ; but socially, 
so far as you can separate society from morals, he is very 
French. The Englishman’s first idea of his duty in so- 
ciety is non-interference ; the Frenchman’s and Ameri- 
can’s, amusement. An Englishman does not think it his 
business to endeavour to amuse the company in which 
he happens to be ; an Englishwoman does not think it 


114 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


her duty to make any attempt to entertain a man who is 
introduced to her. A Frenchman will rather talk trash, 
knowing that he is talking trashy than remain silent and 
let others remain silent. So will an American. But an 
Englishman, unless he is sure of saying something to the 
point, will hold his tongue. The imperturbable self-pos- 
session of the English gentleman is not generally under- 
stood by us, any more than it is by the French. His 
minding his own business is attributed to selfish indif- 
ference. The picture that half our people form of an 
Englishman is, a heavy, awkward man, very badly dress- 
ed, courageous, and full of learning ; but devoid of all 
the arts and graces of life, and caring for nobody but 
himself It is a great pity that there is not a better un- 
derstanding; but, unfortunately, the best Englishmen 
who come here seldom stay long enough to be appreci- 
ated, and the best Americans who go to England seldom 
stay there long enough to appreciate the country. When- 
ever an American chances to stay some years among you, 
he ends by liking England very much ; but it is very 
seldom that he has any provocation, unless compelled by 
business, to stay some years, for acquaintances are harder 
to make in London than in any other city, while it has 
less resources for a man without acquaintances than any 
other city — besides being so dear. But here comes the 
ladies at last ; now for breakfast.’ 

Breakfast was the best managed meal at the Bath 
Hotel. The table d^hote began at half-past seven, but 
fresh relays of rolls and eggs, ham, chops, and steaks, 
were always to be obtained until half-past ten or eleven 
by those who had interest with the waiters. After 
breakfast the company went to work promenading. 
There was a very wide hall running through the hotel, 
and up and down this, and up and down the two broad- 


OLDPORT SPRINGS. 


115 


est sides of the portico, all the world walked — ‘ our set ' 
being conspicuous from the elegance of their morning 
costume. One side of the portico was devoted to the 
gentlemen and their cigars, and there Ashburner and 
Masters took a turn, leaving with the ladies Le Koi and 
a small beau or two who had joined them. Suddenly 
Masters pressed his friend’s arm. 

^ Here comes really ^ one of the most remarkable 
men ’ — the very god of the dance ; behold Tom Ed- 
wards !’ 

Ashburner beheld a little man, about five feet and a 
half high. If he could have stood on his bushy black 
beard it would have lifted him full three inches higher. 
Besides this beard he cherished a small moustache, very 
elaborately curling-tongsed at the ends into the shape of 
half a lyre. Otherwise he had not much hair on his 
head, but what he had was very carefully brushed. His 
features were delicate, and not without intelligence, but 
terribly worn by dissipation. To look at his figure you 
would take him for a boy of nineteen ; to look at his 
face, for a man of thirty : he was probably, about half- 
way between the two ages. Everything about him was 
wonderfully neat : a white coat and hat, like Masters’ ; 
cream-coloured waistcoat, and pearl-coloured trousers ; 
miraculously small feet in resplendent boots, looking 
more like a doll’s extremities than a man’s ; a French kid 
glove on one of his little hands and on the other a sap- 
phire ring, so large that Ashburner wondered how the 
little man could carry it, and thought that he should, like 
Juvenal’s dandies, have kept a lighter article for summer 
wear. Then he had a watch-chain of great balls of blue 
enamel, with about two pounds of chatelaine charms de- 
pendent therefrom ; and delicate little enamelled studs, 
with sleeve-buttons to match. Altogether he was a won- 


116 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


derful lion, considering his size. Even Masters had not 
the courage to stop and introduce his friend until he 
passed the great dancer more than once, in silent admi- 
ration, and with a respectful bow. 

•And as they passed he detailed to Ashburner, with 
his usual biographical accuracy, the history of Tom Ed- 
wards, which he had begun in the stage-coach. Tom had 
been left in his infancy with a fortune, and without a 
father, to be brought up by relatives who had an un- 
lucky preference of Parisian to American life. Under 
their auspices and those of other Mentors, whom he 
found in that gay capital, his progress was so rapid, that 
at a very early age he was known as the banker of two 
or three distinguished lorettes^ and the pet pupil of the 
renowned Cellarius. Indeed, he had lived so much in 
the society of that gentleman and his dancing-girls, that 
he took the latter for his standard of female society, and 
had a tendency to behave to all womankind as he behav- 
ed to them. To married ladies he talked slightly refined 
double-entendre : to young ladies he found it safest to say 
very little, his business and pleasure being to dance with 
them ; and if they did not dance, he gave them up for 
uncivilized beings, and troubled himself no further about 
them. Of old people of either sex he took no further no- 
tice than to order them out of the way when they imped- 
ed the polkers, or danced bodily over them when they dis- 
obeyed. Still it must be said, in justice to him, that 
dancing was not his sole and all-absorbing pursuit. 
Having an active turn of mind and body, he found leisure 
for many other profitable amusements. He was fond of 
that noble animal the horse, gambled habitually, ate and 
drank luxuriously, — in short, burned his candle at a good 
many ends : but the dance was, though not his sole, cer- 
tainly his favourite passion ; and he was never supreme- 


OLDPORT SPRINGS. 


117 


iy happy but when he had all the chairs in the house 
arranged in a circle, and all the boys and women of ‘ our 
set ’ going around them in the German cotillon, from 
noon to midnight at a (so-called) matinee^ or from mid- 
night to daybreak at a ball. 

^ And now,’ said Masters, ‘ I think my cousin Gerard 
must be up by this time ; he and Edwards are generally 
the last to come down to breakfast. Perhaps we shall 
find him at the ten-pin alley ; I see the ladies are mov- 
ing that way.’ 

To the ten-pin alley they went. Down stairs, men 
were playing, coat off, and cigar in mouth ; while others 
waited their turn, with feet distributed in various direc- 
tions. Above, all was decorum ; the second story being 
(ippropriated to the ladies and their cavaliers. And very 
fond of the game the ladies were, for it afforded them an 
opportunity of showing off a handsome arm, and some- 
times a neat ankle. Gerard was not there ; they had to 
wait some time for alleys ; although Masters was a little 
bored, and whispered to his friend that he meant to con- 
sole himself by making a little sensation. 

‘ By your play ?’ asked Ashburner. 

^ No, but by taking off my coat.’ 

‘ Why, really, considering the material of your coat, 
I think it might as well be on as off. Surely you can’t 
find it an impediment V 

^No, but I mean to take it off for fun, — just to give 
the people here something to talk about ; they talk so 
much about so little. They will be saying all over by 
to- morrow that Mr. Masters was in the ladies’ room half 
undressed.’ 

After an hour’s rolling they returned hotel-wards 
again, and as they did so, a very spicy phaeton, with an 
equally spicy unicorn, a dark chestnut leading two light 
6 * 


118 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 

bays, drove up to the door. A tall, handsome man, handed 
out a rather pretty and very showily-dressed little wo- 
man ; and Ashburner recognised Gerard Ludlow. 

It was not the first time he had seen Gerard. They 
had travelled over half Greece together, having accident- 
ally fallen upon the same route. As the Honourable 
Edward had all the national fear of compromising him- 
self, and Gerard was as proud and reserved as any En- 
glishman, they went on for days together without speak- 
ing, although the only Anglo-Saxons of the party. At 
last, Ludlow having capsized, horse and all, on a particu- 
larly bad road, Ashburner took the liberty of helping to 
pick him up, and then they became very good friends. 
Gerard was at that time in the full flush of youth and 
beauty, and the lion of the Italian capital, which he had 
made his head quarters, where it was currently reported 
that a certain very desirable countess had made despe- 
rate love to him, and that a rich nobleman (for there are 
so'tne rich noblemen still left on the continent) had tried 
very hard to get the handsome foreigner for a son-in-law. 
Knowing this, and some other similar stories about him, 
Ashburner was a little curious to see Mrs. Ludlow, and 
confessed himself somewhat disappointed in her: he 
found her rather pretty, and certainly not stupid ; lively 
and agreeable in her manners, like most of her country- 
women; but by no means remarkably distinguished 
either for beauty or wit. Masters explained to him that 
his cousin ^had married for tin.' 

‘ But Ludlow always talked of his father as a rich 
man, and his family as a small one. I should have 
supposed money about the last thing he would have 
married for.’ 

‘ Yes, he had prospects of the best ; but he wanted 
ready money and a settled income. He was on a small 


OLDPOKT SPRINGS. 


119 


allowance ; he knew the only way to get a handsome 
one was to marry, and that the more money his wife 
brought the more his father would come down with. 
So as Miss Hammersley had eight thousand a-year, 
old Ludlow trebled it ; and Gerard may build as many 
phaetons as he likes. I don’t mean to say that the 
match is an uncongenial one, — they have many tastes 
alike ; but I do mean to say that love had nothing to do 
with it.’ 

‘Well, I used to think that in your unsophisticated 
republican country, people married out of pure love ; 
but now it looks as if the fashionables, at least, marry 
for money about as often as we do.’ 

‘ They don’t marry for an^'thing else,’ replied Masters, 
using one of the slang phrases of the day.* 

W^hile the two friends were gossiping, Sumner and 
Le K-oi had carried off the ladies ; and an assemblage of 
juvenile beaux and young girls, and some few of the 
younger married women, had extemporized a dance in 
the largest of the public parlours, which they kept up 
till two o’clock and then vanished, — to dress, as it ap- 
peared, for the three o’clock dinner. Masters’ party had 
obtained their apartments at last, — a parlour and two 
bed-rooms for the ladies on the first floor, and chambers 
for the three men in the second story, of a recently built 
wing, popularly known as ‘ the Colony,’ where most of 
the gay bachelors, and not a few of the young married 
men, slept. At dinner the ladies presented themselves 
as much dressed as they could be without being decolle- 
tees ; and the men had doffed their grass-cloth or linen 


* This is the strongest American (slang) way of putting an affir- 
mation ; and, probably, the strongest instance of it on record is that 
of the Bowery boy, who, when asked by the clergyman, ‘ Wilt thou 
have this woman V replied, ‘ I won’t have any one else.’ 


120 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


garments, and put on dress-coats, or, at least, black coats. 
Ashburner was a good-looking young man enough, and 
had sufficient vanity to take notice, in the course of the 
morning, that he was an object of attention ; at dinner 
many looks were directed towards him, but with an ex- 
pression of disappointment which he did not exactly under- 
stand at the time, but afterwards learned the reason of 
from his friend. Though making no pretensions to the 
title of exquisite, he happened to have a very neat shooting- 
jacket, unexceptionable in material and fit ; and ‘ our 
set,’ having approved of this, were curious to see what 
sort of costume he would display at dinner. When, 
therefore, he came to table, 

Avec les memes bas et la meme cravate, 

and the shooting-jacket unchanged, they were visibly 
disappointed. Masters, to keep him in countenance, had 
retained his white coat, on the plea of its being most 
wanted then, as they were in the hottest part of the day, 
which excuse did not enable him to escape some hints 
from his sister-in-law, and a direct scolding from his 
wife. 

Our Englishman thought the dinner hardly worth so 
much dressing for. The dishes, so far as he had an 
opportunity of judging, were tolerably cooked ; but their 
number was not at all proportionate to that of the 
guests, — in short, it was a decided case of short commons, 
and the waiters were scarce to match. There were but 
two parties well attended to. One was the family of an 
old gentleman from the South, who was part owner of 
the building, and who, besides this advantage, enjoyed 
the privilege of letting his daughter inonopolize the 
piano of the public parlour half the day, to sing Italian 


OLDPOET SPEINGS. 


121 


arias shockingly out of tune, much to the disgust of the 
boarders generally, and especially of the dancing set, 
who were continually wanting the instrument themselves 

for polking purposes. The other was the reporters 

of The Sewer ; who had a choice collection of dishes and 
waiters always at their command. To be sure the^ had 
their end of the table to themselves, too, for not a person 
sat within three chairs of them on either side ; but this 
they, no doubt, accepted as a complimentary acknowledg- 
ment of their formidable reputation. Every one else 
was famished. The married women grumbled, and 
scolded their husbands, — those convenient scape-goats 
of all responsibility ; the young ladies tried to look very 
sentimental, and above all such vulgar anxiety as that of 
meat and drink, but only succeeded in looking very cross ; 
the men swore in various dialects at the waiters when- 
ever they could catch them flying, and the waiters being 
used to it didn’t mind it ; and Ashburner, as a recollec- 
tion of a former conversation flitted across his mind, 
could not help letting off a tu quoque at his friend. 

^ I say. Masters,’ quoth he, ‘ is this one of the hotels 
that are so much better than ours, and that our people 
ought to take a lesson from V 

Harry looked half-a-dozen bowie-knives at him. 
Besides the natural irritation produced by hunger, his 
wife and sister-in-law had been whipping him over each 
other’s shoulders for the last half-hour, and now this last 
remark made him ready to boil over. For a few seconds 
his face wore an expression positively dangerous, but 
in another moment the ridiculous side of the case struck 
him. With a good-humoured laugh he called for some 
wine — the only thing one was sure to get, as it was an 
extra, and a pretty expensive one too, on the bills — and 
they drowned their hunger in a bumper of tolerable 
champagne. 


122 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


The fact was, that the Bath Hotel had been a most 
excellent house three or four summers previous, and 
the ‘ enterprising and gentlemanly’ landlord (to borrow 
an American penny-a-liner’s phrase) having made a for- 
tune, as he deserved, had sold out his lease, with the 
goodwill and fixtures of the establishment, to Mr. Grab- 
ster. The latter gentleman was originally a respectable 
farmer and market-gardener in the vicinity of Oldport ; 
and having acquired by his business a fair sum of money, 
was looking about for some speculation in which to invest 
it. He commenced his new profession with tolerable 
good intentions, but having as much idea of keeping a 
hotel as he had of steering a frigate, and finding a bal- 
ance against him at the end of the first season, from 
sheer mismanagement, he had been endeavouring ever 
since to make up for it by screwing his guests in every 
way. People naturally began to complain. Two courses 
were open to Mm, to improve his living, or to tip an editor 
to pulf him. He deemed the latter course the cheaper, and 
bought The Sewer ^ which, while uttering the most fulsome, 
adulation of everything connected with the Bath Hotel, 
frightened the discontented into silence through dread of 
its abuse. Ludlow, and some of the other exclusives, had, 
in the beginning of the present season, contrived a remedy 
which, for the time, was perfectly successful. They held 
a private interview with the cook, and made up a weekly 
contribution for him, on condition of their having the 
best of everything, and enough of it for dinner ; and the 
waiters were similarly retained. For a time this worked 
to a marvel, and the subscribers were as well fed as they 
could desire. But the other guests began to make an 
outcry against the aristocracy and exclusiveness of private 
dishes on a public table, and the servants soon hit upon 
a compromise of their own, which was to take the money 


OLDPORT SPRINGS. 


123 


without rendering the quid pro quo. This, of course, 
soon put an end to the payments, and things were on the 
old starvation footing again. 

After dinner, everybody who had horses rode or 
drove. The roads about Oldport were heavy and sandy, 
and terrible work the dust made with the ladies’ fine 
dresses and the gentlemen’s fine coats. 

‘ Eather different from the drives about Baden-Baden,’ 
said Masters. 

‘ Yes ; but I suppose we must console ourselves on 
moral grounds, and remember, that there we owe the 
beautiful promenades to the gambling-table, while here 
we are without the roads, and also without the- play.’ 

• Ah, but isn’t there play here ? only all suh rosd. 
Wait a while, and you’ll find out.’ 

And Ashburner did find out before many nights, 
when the footsteps and oaths of the young gamblers 
returning at four in the morning to their rooms in the 
‘ colony,’ woke him out of his first sleep. After the 
drive, tea — still at the table d^hote — and after tea, dress- 
ing for the ball, which this night was at the Bellevue 
House, appropriately so-called from commanding a fine 
view of nothing. As the Bellevue was not a fashionable 
hotel (although the guests were sufficiently fed there), 
some of the exclusive ladies had hesitated about ‘ assist- 
ing’ on the occasion ; but the temptation of a dance was 
too strong to be resisted, and they all ultimately went. 
Le Boi accompanied the Masters in the all-accommodat- 
ing Bockaway. The Bellevue had a ^ colony,’ too, in 
the second story of which was the ball-room. As they 
ascended the stairs, the lively notes of La Polka Sent- 
piternelle^ cornposee par Josef Bungel^ et didi^e d M. T. 
Edwards., reached their ears ; and hardly were they 
over the threshold when Edwards himself hopped up 


124 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

before them, and without other preface or salutation than 
a familiar nod, threw his arm round Mrs. Masters’ waist, 
and swung her off in the dance; while Sumner, who had 
simultaneously presented himself to Miss Vanderljn, 
took similar possession of her. 

^ Do you dance ?’ 

^ No, I thank you.’ 

While Masters asked the question, Le Roi dived at 
a girl and whirled her away : almost before Ashburner 
had answered it, his friend shot away from him, making 
point at a young married lady in the distance ; and his 
bow of recognition ended in the back-step of the polka, 
as the two went off together at a killing pace. In five 
seconds from the time of entrance, Ashburner was left 
standing alone at one end of the room, and his compan- 
ions were twirling at the other. For so habituated were 
the dancers to their fascinating exercise, that they were 
always ready to go at the word, like trained horses. 
And certainly the dancing was beautiful. He had never 
seen gentlemen move so gracefully and dexterously in a 
crowded room as these young Americans did. Le Roi 
and Lowenberg, who, by virtue of their respective 
nationalities, were bound to be good dancers, looked 
positively awkward alongside of the natives. As to the 
ladies, they glided, and swam, and realized all the so- 
often-talked-of-and-seldom-seen ^ poetry of motion.’ In- 
deed Ashburner thought they did it too well. He 
thought of Catiline’s friend commemorated by Sallust, 
who ‘ danced better than became a modest woman.’ He 
thought some of their displays were a little operatic, and 
that he had seen, something like them at certain balls in 
Paris — not the balls of the Faubourg St. Germain. He 
thought that the historian’s aphorism might be extended 
to the male part of the company, — and that they danced 


OLDPOKT SPEINGS. 


125 


better than became intelligent men. He thought — but 
as he prudently kept thoughts to himself, as some of 
his foreign prejudices may have been at the bottom of 
them, we will not stop to record them all. By-and-bye 
there was a quadrille for the benefit of the million, 
during which the exclusives rested, and Ashburner had 
full opportunity of observing them. The first thing 
that struck him was the extreme youth of the whole set, 
and more especially the masculine portion of it. Old 
men there were none. The old women, that is to say, 
the mammas and aunts, were stuck into corners out of the 
way, and no one took any notice of them. Hamilton 
Bell was quite an old beau by comparison — almost su- 
perannuated. Sumner would have been nearly off the 
books but for his very superior dancing. Even Masters 
seemed a middle-aged man compared with the majority 
of ‘ our set,’ who averaged between boys of seventeen and 
young men of twenty -four. And the more juvenile the 
youth, the larger and stiffer was his white tie. Some of 
these neck-fastenings were terrific to behold, standing 
out a foot on each side of the wearer. All the Join- 
villes that Ashburner had ever seen, on all the gents in 
London or elsewhere, faded into insignificance before 
these portentous cravats. He could not help making 
some observation on this fashion to Masters, as he en- 
countered him promenading with a fair polkiste. 

‘ Bid you ever notice the whiffle-trees of my team- 
trotting-wagon, how they extend on each side beyond 
the hubs of the wheels? They serve for feelers in a 
tight place ; wherever you clear your whiffle-trees, you 
can clear your wheels ; and these cravats are built on 
the same principle — wherever you clear your tie, you 
can clear your partner.’ 

‘ By one in the morning the democracy of the ball- 


126 SKETCHES OF AMERICAK SOCIETY. 


room had had enough of four hours’ dancing and looking 
on. ‘ Our set’ was left in full possession of the floor. 
Forthwith they seized upon all the chairs, the intermi- 
nable German cotillon commenced. It lasted two hours 
— and how much longer Ashburner could not tell. 
When he went away at three, the dancers looked very 
deliquescent, but gave no symptoms of flagging. And 
so ended his first day’s experience of an American water- 
ing-place. 


127 


CHAPTEE VI. 

LIFE AT A WATERIKG-PLACE. — THE 
LIONHE. 

O NE day afc Oldport Springs went off pretty much 
like another. There was the same continual whirl, 
and flurry, and toiling after pleasure — never an hour 
of repose — scarcely enough cessation for the two or three 
indispensable meals. When they had walked, and flirted, 
and played ten-pins, and driven, and danced all day, and 
all night till two in the morning, the women retired to 
their rooms, and the men retired to the gambling-house 
(which being an illegal establishment had, on that ac- 
count, a greater charm in their eyes), and kept it up 
there till broad daylight ; notwithstanding which, they 
always Contrived to appear at breakfast a few hours 
after as fresh as ever, and ready to begin the same round 
of dissipation. Indeed, it was said that Tom Edwards 
and his most ardent followers among the boys never 
went to bed at all, but on their return from -flghting the 
tiger,’ bathed, changed their linen, and came down to the 
breakfast-room, taking the night’s sleep for granted. It 
was a perpetual scene of excitement, relieved only by the 
heavy and calm flgure of Sumner, who, silent and unim- 
passioned, largely capacious of meat and drink, a recipi- 
ent of every diversion, without being excited by any, went 
through all the bowling, and riding, and polking, and 
gambling, with the gravity of a commis performing the 


128 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


national French dance at the Mabille. There was much 
rivalry in equipages, especially between Ludlow, Masters, 
and Lowenberg, who drove the three four-in-hands of 
the place, and emulated one another in horses, harness, 
and vehicles — even setting up attempts at liveries, in 
which they found some imitators (for you can’t do any- 
thing in America, however unpopular, without being 
imitated) ; and every horse, wagon, man-servant, and 
livery, belonging to every one, was duly chronicled in 
the Oldport correspondence of the Sewer and the Jaco- 
bin^ which journals were wont one day to Billingsgate 
the ‘ mushroom aristocracy of wealth,’ and the next to 
play Jenkins for their glorification. Le Boi, who owned 
no horses, and had given up dancing as soon as he found 
that there were many of the natives who could out-dance 
him, and that the late hours were bad for his complex- 
ion, attached himself to any or every married lady who 
was at all distinguished for beauty or fortune ; and then 
went about asking, with an ostentatious air of mystery — 
‘ Est-ce qv)on parle heaucoup de moi et Madame Chose V 
Sometimes he deigned to turn asside for an heiress ; and 
as he was a very amusing and rather ornamental man, 
the girls were always glad to have his company ; but the 
good speculations took care not to fall in love with him, 
or to give him sufiicient encouragement (although a 
Frenchman does not require a great deal) to justify a 
declaration on his part. Perhaps the legend about the 
mutual-benefit-subscription club hurt his prospects, or it 
may have been his limited success in dancing. The 
same reason — as much, at least, as the assumed one of 
their vulgarity — kept Mr. Simpson, and other ^ birds’ of 
his set, out of the exclusive society. For dancing was the 
one great article in the code of the fashionables to which 
all other amusements or occupations were subordinate. 


THE LIOHNE. 


129 


There was a grand dress-ball once a-week at one or other 
of the hotels, and two undress-balls — hops they were 
called ; but most of the exclusives went to these also in 
full dress, and both balls and hops usually lasted till 
three or four in the morning. Then on the off-nights 
^ our set’ got up their own little extempore balls in the 
large public parlour, to the music of some volunteer 
pianist, and when the weather was bad they danced in 
the same place all day ; when it was good these informal 
matinees did not generally last more than two or three 
hours. Then there were serenades given about day- 
break, by young men who were tired of ‘ the tiger’ — 
nominally to some particular ladies, but virtually, of 
course, to the whole hotel, or nearly so — and the only 
music they could devise for these occasions were waltzes 
or polkas. Ashburner made a calculation that counting 
in the serenades the inhabitants of Oldport were edified 
by waltz, polka, and redowa music (in those days the 
Schottisch was not), eleven hours out of the twenty-four 
daily. And at last, when M. Monson, the Cellarius of 
New- York, came down with various dancing-girls, native 
and imported, to give lessons to such aspiring young 
men as might desire it, first Mrs. Harrison and other 
women, who, though wealthy and well known, were not 
exactly ^ of us,’ used to drop in to look at the fun ; and, 
finally, all the exclusives, irresistibly attracted by the 
sound of fiddles and revolving feet, thronged the little 
room up-stairs, where the dancing class was assembled, 
and from looking on, proceeded to join in the exercises. 
Ladies, beaux, and dancing-girls, were all mingled 
together, whirling and capering about in an apartment 
fifteen feet square, which hardly gave them room to pass 
one another. Masters was the only person who entered 
his protest against the proceeding. He declared that it 


180 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


was a shame that his countrywomen should degrade 
themselves so before foreigners ; but his expostulations 
were only laughed at : nor could he even persuade his 
wife and sister-in-law to quit the place, though he stalked 
off himself in high dudgeon, and wrote a letter to the 
Episcopal Banner^ inveighing against the shameless dis- 
sipation of the watering-places. For Harry was on very 
good terms with the religious people in New- York, and 
was professedly a religious man, and had some sort of 
idea that he mixed with the fashionables to do them 
good ; which was much like what we sometimes hear of 
a parson who follows the hounds to keep the sportsmen 
from swearing, and about as successful. Trying with 
all his might to serve Grod, and to live with the exclusives, 
he was in a fair way to get a terrible fall between two 
stools. 

Talking of religion brings us naturally to Sunday, 
which at Oldport was really required as a day of rest. 
But whether it would have been so or not is doubtful, 
only that the Puritan habits of the country made dan- 
cing on that day impossible. It was a violation of pub- 
lic opinion, and of the actual law of the land, which no 
one cared to attempt. The fashionables were thus left 
almost without resource. The young men went off to 
dine somewhere in the vicinity, not unfrequently taking 
with them some of M. Monson’s dancing-girls ; the mar- 
ried men, and the women generally, were in a sad state 
of listlessness. Some of them literally went to bed and 
slept for the rest of the week ; others, in very despair of 
something to do, went to church and fell asleep there. 
Ashburner took advantage of the lull to fill up his 
journal, and put down his observations on the society 
about him, in which he had remarked some striking pe- 
culiarities, apart from the dancing mania and other out- 
ward and open characteristics. 


THE LIONNE. 


131 


The first thing that surprised him was the great 
number of misunderstandings and quarrels existing 
among the not very large number of people who composed 
the fashionable set. They seemed to quarrel with their 
relatives in preference, as a matter of course, and to ad- 
mit strangers very readily to the privilege of relatives. 
The Kobinsons were at feud with all their cousins; 
Masters with most of his, except Ludlow. Ludlow, 
Bell, Sumner, every man he knew, had his set of private 
enemies, with whom he was not on speaking or bowing 
terms. Mrs. Harrison, who was very friendly to most of 
the men, scarcely spoke to a single woman in the place ; 
but this was, perhaps, only carrying the war into Africa, 
as the ladies of ‘ our set ’ generally had intended not to 
recognize her as one of them. These numberless feuds 
made it very difficult to arrange an excursion, or get up 
a dinner at the restaurant of a ‘ coloured gentleman ^ 
whose timely settlement in Oldport had enabled Mr. 
Grabster’s guests to escape in some measure the pangs 
of hunger. On studying the causes of these disagreeable 
hostilities, he found that, among relatives, they were 
often caused by disputes upon money matters ; that 
between persons not related they frequently sprung from 
the most trivial sources — frivolous points of etiquette, 
petty squabbles at cards, imaginary jealousies — but that 
in both cases the majority of them could be traced to the 
all-pervading spirit of scandal. His purely intellectual 
education, if it had not made him somewhat of a misog- 
onist, had at least prevented him from gaining any ac- 
curate knowledge or appreciation of women : he set them 
down en masse as addicted to gossip, and was not surprised 
to find in the American ladies what he assumed as a 
characteristic of the whole sex. But he was surprised 
to find the same quality so prevalent among the men. 


182 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


Not that they were in the habit of killing reputations, to 
give themselves bonnes fortunes^ as Frenchmen might 
have done under similar circumstances ; their defama- 
tory gossip was more about men than about women, and 
seemed to arise partly from a general disbelief in virtue 
and partly from inability to maintain an interesting con- 
versation on other than personal topics. And though 
much of this evil speaking was evidently prompted by 
personal enmities, much also of it seemed to originate 
in no hostile feeling at all ; and it was this that particu- 
larly astonished Ashburner, to find men speaking dis- 
paragingly of their friends — those who were so in the 
real sense of that much abused term. Thus there could 
be no reasonable doubt that the cousins. Masters and 
Ludlow, were much attached to each other, and fond of 
each other’s society ; that either would have been ready 
to take up the other’s quarrel, or endorse his notes, had 
circumstances required it. Yet Harry could never re- 
frain from laughing before third parties at Grerard’s 
ignorance of books, and making him the hero of all the 
Mrs. Malaprop-isms he could pick up or invent ; or, as 
we have seen, speaking very disrespectfully of the motives 
which had led him to commit matrimony ; and Glerard 
was not slow to make corresponding comments on various 
foibles of Harry. But the spirit of detraction was most 
fully developed in men who were not professionally idle, 
but had, or professed to have, some little business on 
hand. Of this class was Arthur Sedley, an old acquaint- 
ance and groomsman of Masters, and a barrister — (they 
are beginning to talk about barristers now in New- York, 
though it is a division of labour not generally recognised 
in the country) — of somd small practice. Beally well- 
educated, well-read, and naturally clever, his cleverness 
and knowledge were vastly more disagreeable than almost 


THE LIONNE. 


133 


any amount of ignorance or stupidity could have been. 
When he cut up right and left every man or woman who 
came on the tapis^ his sarcasms were so neatly pointed 
that it was impossible to help laughing with him ; but it 
was equally impossible to escape feeling that, as soon as 
your back was turned, he would be laughing at you. 
Kiches and rich people were the commonest subject of 
his sneers, yet he lost no opportunity of toadying a 
profitable connexion, and was always supposed to be on 
the look-out for some heiress. 

The next thing which made Ashburner marvel was 
the extreme youth of the fashionable set, particularly the 
male portion of it ; or to speak more critically, the way 
in which the younger members of the set had suppressed 
their elders, and constituted themselves the society. A 
middle-aged man, particularly if, like Lowenberg, he hap- 
pened to be rich, might be admitted to terms of equality, 
but the papas and mammas were absolutely set aside, and 
became mere formulas and appendages. The old people 
were nowhere ; no one looked after their comfort in a 
crowd, or consulted them about any arrangement till 
after the arrangement was made. They had no influence 
and no authority. When Miss Friskin rode a wild colt 
bareheaded through the streets of Oldport, or danced the 
redowa with little Robinson in so very chateau-rouge a 
style, that even Mrs. Harrison turned away, poor Mrs. 
Friskin could interpose no impediment to the young 
lady’s amusement ; and even her father, the respected 
senior of the wealthy firm, Friskin and Co., who must 
have heard from afar of his daughter’s vagaries (for all 
these things were written in the note-book of the Sewer) ^ 
seemed never to have dreamed of the propriety or possi- 
bility of coming up to Oldport to put a stop to them. 
When Tom Edwards was squandering his fortune night 


134 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 

after night at the faro-tahle, and his health day after day 
in ceaseless dissipation, there was no old friend of his 
family who dared to give him advice or warning, for 
there was none to whose advice or warning he would 
have listened. Once when Ashburner was conversing 
with Masters on some subject which brought on a refer, 
ence to this inverse order of things, the latter gave his 
explanation of it, which was to this effect : — 

The number of foreigners among us. either travel- 
ling for pleasure or settled for purposes of business, is so 
great, that they become an appreciable element in our 
society. It is, therefore, requisite that a fashionable 
should be able to associate easily with foreigners ; and 
for this it is necessary that he or she should have some 
knowledge of foreign customs and languages, and, in the 
first place, of the French language. Now, if we go back 
a generation, we shall find that the men of that day were 
not educated to speak French. Go into the Senate 
Chamber at Washington, for instance, and you will not 
meet with many of the honourable senators who can con- 
verse in the recognised language of courts. Many of 
our most distinguished statesmen and dij^lomats can 
speak no tongue but their own. And to descend to pri- 
vate life, with which we have more particularly to do, 
when a foreigner presents himself with his letters at the 
dwelling of an old city merchant or professional man, it 
is generally the younger branches of the family who are 
called on to amuse him and play interpreters for the rest. 
This gives the young people a very decided advantage 
over their elders, and it is not surprising that they have 
become a little vain of it. And similarly with regard to 
foreign dresses, dances, cookery, and habits generally. 
The young men, having been the latest abroad, are the 
freshest and best informed in these things. It does not 


THE LIONNE. 


135 


require any great experience or wisdom to master them, 
only some personal grace and aptitude for imitation to 
start with, and an aplomb to which ignorance is more con- 
ducive than knowledge. Hence the standard of excel- 
lence has become one of superficial accomplishment, and 
the man of matured mind who enters into competition 
with these handsome, showy, and illiterate boys, puts 
himself at a discount. Look at Lowenberg. All his 
literary acquirements and artistic tastes (and he really 
has a great deal of both) go for nothing. The little 
beaux can speak nearly as many languages as he can, 
and dance and dress better. The only thing they can 
appreciate about him is his money, and the horses and 
dinners consequent thereon. If little Kobinson, there, 
with his ne plus ultra tie and varnished shoes, were to 
have the same fortune left him to-morrow, he would be 
the better man of the two, because he can polk better, 
and because, being neither a married man nor the agent 
of a respectable house, he can gamble and do other things 
which Lowenberg’s position does not allow him to do.’ 

This was a great confession for Masters to make 
against “the country ; nevertheless, it was not perfectly 
satisfactory to Ashburner, who thought that it did not 
explain all the phenomena of the case. It seemed to 
him that there was at work a radical spirit of insubordi- 
nation, and a principle of overturning the formerly recog- 
nised order of domestic rule. The little children ate 
and drank what they liked, went to bed when they liked, 
and altogether were very independent of their natural 
rulers. Masters’ boy rode rough-shod over his nurse, 
bullied his mother, and only deigned to mind his father 
occasionally. The wives ruled their husbands despotically, 
and acted as if they had taken out a patent for avenging 
the inferiority of their sex in other parts of the world. 


136 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


Masters did not like dancing : he only danced at all be- 
cause he thought it his business to know a little of every- 
thing, and because society thought it the duty of every 
young man who was not lame to understand the polka. 
But his wife kept him going at every ball for six hours, 
during five of which he was bored to death. Ludlow, 
whose luxurious living made violent exercise necessary 
for his health, and who, therefore, delighted in fencing, 
boxing, and ‘ constitutionals ’ that would have tired a 
Cantab, was made to drive about Mrs. Ludlow all day 
till he hated the sight of his own horses. As to Mrs. 
Harrison, she treated her husband, when he made his 
appearance at Oldport (which was not very often) as un- 
ceremoniously as one would an old trunk, or any other 
piece of baggage which is never alluded to or taken no- 
tice of except when wanted for immediate use. 

Ashburner first met this lady a very few days after 
his arrival at Oldport ; indeed, she was so conspicuous a 
figure in the place that one could not be there long with- 
out taking notice of her. About mid-day there was 
usually a brief interval between the ten-pin bowling and 
the informal dance ; and during one of these pauses he 
perceived on the smoking-piazza, where ladies seldom 
ventured, a well-dressed and rather handsome woman 
smoking a cigarette, and surrounded by a group of beaux 
of all sizes, from men like Bell and Sumner to the little 
huge-cravated boys in their teens. She numbered in her 
train at least half-a-dozen of these cavaliers, and was play- 
ing them off against pne another and managing them all 
at once, as a circus-rider does his four horsed, or a jug- 
gler his four balls. In a country where beauty is the 
rule rather than the exception, she was not a remarkable 
beauty — at least she did not appear such to Ashburner 
from that distance ; nor was her dress, though sufficiently 


THE LIONNE. 


137 


elegant and becoming, quite so artistically put on as that 
of Mrs, Masters and the other belles of the set ; still 
there was clearly something very attractive and striking 
about her, and he was immediately induced to inquire 
her name, and, on learning that she was a real lady 
(though not of ^ our set’ of ladies), to request an intro- 
duction to her. But Masters, to whom he first applied, 
instead of jumping at the opportunity with his usual 
readiness to execute or anticipate his friend’s wishes, 
boggled exceedingly, and put off the introduction under 
frivolous and evidently feigned pretences. It was so un- 
common for Masters to show any diffidence in such mat- 
ters, and his whole air said so plainly, ‘ I will do this out 
of friendship if you wish it, but for my own part I would 
rather not,’ that Ashburner saw there was something in 
the wind, and let the subject drop. Ludlow, to whom 
he next had recourse, told him, with the utmost polite- 
ness but in very decided terms, that ‘ his family ’ (he was 
careful not to insist on his own persoimlity in the affair) 
^ had not the honour of Mrs. Harrison’s acquaintance.’ 
The next man who happened to come along was Mr. 
Simpson, and to him Ashburner made application, think- 
ing that, perhaps, the fair smoker might more properly 
belong to the • second set,’ though so surrounded by the 
beaux of the first. But even Simpson, though the last 
man in the world to be guilty of any superfiuous delica- 
cy, hesitated very much, and made some allusion to Mrs. 
Simpson ; and then Ashburner began to comprehend the 
real state of the case, — that most of the married women 
had declared war against Mrs. Harrison, that she had re- 
taliated upon them all, and that the husbands were 
drawn into their wives’ quarrels, and obliged to fight shy 
of her before strangers. It was clear, then, that he must 
apply to a bachelor ; and accordingly he waylaid Sumner, 


J38 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


who ‘ was too happy ’ to introduce him at once in due 
form. 

As Ashhurner came up to Mrs. Harrison she began 
to play off her eyes at him, and he then perceived that 
they constituted her chief beauty. They were of that 
deep blue, which in certain lights, passes for black, — 
large, expressive, and piercing, — the sort of eyes that go 
right through a man and look him down to nothing. In- 
deed, they had such an effect on him that he lost all dis- 
tinctive idea of her other features. Her manner, too, 
had something very attractive, though he could not have 
defined wherein it consisted. She did not exhibit the 
emjpressement with which most of her countrywomen 
seek to put a stranger at his ease at once ; or the exigence 
of a spoiled lady waiting to be amused ; or the haughti- 
ness of a great lady who does not care if she is amused 
herself and deigns no effort to amuse others. Neither 
did she attack him with raillery and irony, as Mrs. Mas- 
ters had done on their first meeting. But she behaved 
as if she were used to seeing men like Ashburner every 
day of her life, and was willing to meet them half way 
and be agreeable to them, if they were so to her, without 
taking any particular trouble, for there was no appear- 
ance of effort to please, or even of any strong desire 
to please, in her words and gestures ; yet she did please 
and attract very decidedly. 

‘ So I saw you in Mrs Harrison’s train !’ said Mas- 
ters, when they next met. 

‘Yes, and I fancy I know why you hesitated to 
introduce me.’ 

As Ashburner spoke he glanced towards the parlour, 
where ‘ our set’ — Mrs. Masters, of course, conspicuous 
among them — were engaged in their ordinary occupation 
of dancing. 


THE LIONNE. 


189 


^ Oil. I assure you, madame is not disposed to be 
jealous, nor am I a man to take part in women^s quar- 
rels. I don’t like the lady myself, to begin with ; and 
were I a bachelor, should have as little to say to her as 
I have now. In the first place she is too old ’ 

• Too old ! she cannot be thirty.’ 

^ Of course a lady never is thirty, until she is fifty, 
at least ; but at any rate I may say, without sacrilege, 
that Mrs. H. is pretty hi :h up in the twenties. Now 
at that age a woman ought — not to give up society, 
that would be an absurdity in the other extreme, but — 
to leave the romping dances and the young men to the 
girls, who want them more, and whom they become 
better. Then I don’t like her face. You must have 
taken notice that all the upper part of it is fine and in- 
tellectual, and she has glorious eyes ’ 

^ Yes,’ said Ashburner. 

^ But all the lower part is heavy and over-sensuous. 
Now, not only does this, in my opinion, entirely dis- 
figure a woman’s looks, but it suggests unpleasant ideas 
of her character. A man may have that ponderous 
chin and voluptuous mouth, without tlieir disturbing 
the harmony of an otherwise handsome face. I do not 
think a woman can ; and as in the physical so in the 
moral. A man can stand a much greater amount of 
sensuousness in his composition .than a woman. I do 
not mean to allude to the difiPerent standards of morality 
for the two sexes admitted by society; for I don’t 
admit it, and think it very unjust ; and I am proud to 
say that our people generally entertain more virtuous 
as well as more equitable views on this point than the 
Europeans, I mean literally, that a man having so 
many opportunities for leading an active life, and being 
able to reason himself into or out of a great many things 


140 SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


to or from which a woman’s only guide is her feelings^ 
may be very sensuous without its doing any positive 
harm to himself or others ; but with a woman, who is 
compelled to lead a comparatively idle life, such an 
element predominating in her character is sure to bring- 
her into mischief’ 

^ Do you mean to say, then, that ^,’ and Ashbur- 

ner stopped short, but his look implied the remainder of 
his interrupted qustion. 

^ Do you ask me from a personal motive V 

Ashburner coloured, and was proceeding to disclaim 
any such motive with an air of injured innocence. 

‘ No, I don’t mean anything of the sort,’ said Mas. 
ters, who felt that he had gone rather too far, and might 
unintentionally have slandered his countrywoman. * I 
believe the lady is as pure as — as my wife, or any one 
else. The number of her beaux, and the equality with 
which she treats them, prove conclusively to my mind 
that her flirting never runs into anything worse. I 
don’t think a woman runs any danger of that kind 
when she has such a lot of cavaliers ; they keep watch on 
her, and on one another. I remember when my brother 
lived in town, he once was away from home for two or 
three weeks, and when he came back an old maid who 
lived in his street, and used to keep religious watch over 
the goings-out and comings-in of every one in the vicin- 
ity, said to him, ^ How very gay your wife is, Mr. Mas- 
ters ? she has been walking with a different gentleman 
every day since you were gone.’ ‘ Dear me !’ says Carl ; 

‘ a different man every day ! How glad I am ! If you 
had told me she was walking with the same man every 
day I might have been a little scared.’ But a woman 
may be perfectly chaste herself, and yet cause a great 
deal of unchasteness in other people. Here is this Mrs. 


THE LIONNE. 


141 


Harrisoiij smoking cigarettes — and cigars, too, some- 
times, in the open air — drinking grog at night, and 
sometimes in the morning ; letting Tom Edwards and 
the foolish hoys who imitate him talk slang to her with- 
out putting them down ; always ready for a walk or 
drive with the last handsome young man who has 
arrived ; and utterly ignoring her husband, except when 
she makes some slighting mention of him for not sending 
her money enough ; — what is the effect of all this upon 
the men % The foreigners — there are plenty of them 
here every season ; I wonder there are so few this time : 
instead of one decent Frenchman like Le Eoi, you 
usually find half-a-dozen disreputable ones ; Englishmen 
many, not always of the best sort ; Germans, Eussians, 
and Spaniards, occasional ; — they all inclined to look 
upon her — especially considering her belligerent attitude 
towards the rest of the female population — as something 
trH legire^ and to attempt to go a little too far with her. 
Then she puts them down fast enough, and they in spite 
say things about her, the discredit of which extends to 
our ladies generally — in short, she exposes the country 
before foreigners. Then for the natives, she catches 
some poor boy just loose upon the world, dances with, 
flatters him — for she has a knack of flattering people with- 
out seeming to do so, especially by always appearing to 
take an interest in what is said to her, — keeps him dang- 
ling about her for a while ; then some day he says or 
does something to make a fool of himself, and she extin- 
guishes him. The man gets a check of this sort at his 
entry into society that is enough to make him a misogy- 
nist for life. And the little scenes that she used to get 
up last summer with married men, just to make their 
wives jealous !’ 

‘ Which. I suppose, is the reason none of your wives 


142 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAJSf SOCIETY. 


will let you speak to her V said Ashhurner, who began 
to feel, he hardly knew why, a sentiment of partisanship 
for Mrs. Harrison. ‘ But granting that her face, as you 
describe it, is an index of her character, I should draw 
from that exactly the opposite inference. I believe that 
the women who make mischief in the way you mention 
are your unsensuous and passionless ones — that the 
perfect flirt, single or married, must be a perfectly cold 
woman, because it is only one of such a temperament who 
can thus trifle with others without danger to herself I 
speak hesitatingly, for all women are a mystery, and my 
experience is as yet very limited ; but such opportunities 
of observation as have fallen to my lot confirm me in 
the theory.^ 

Somewhat to Ashburner’s* surprise, his friend made 
no attempt to controvert his argument. He only turned 
it aside, saying, — 

^ Well, I don’t like her at any rate. If I had no 
other reason, the way she talks of her husband would be 
enough to make me.’ 

‘ Oh, there is a Mr. Harrison, then 7 One hears so 
little of him ’ 

‘ And sees so nothing of him, you may say.’ 

^ Exactly — that I took him for a mythological per- 
sonage — a cousin of our Mrs. Harris.’ 

‘Nevertheless I assure you Mr. Harrison exists very 
decidedly — a Wall Street speculator, and well known as 
such by business people ; a capital man behind a trotter, 
an excellent judge of wine. Probably he will come here 
from the city once or twice before we leave, and I 
shall find an opportunity to introduce you to him, for he 
is really worth knowing, and considerable of a man, as 
we say — no fool at all, except in the way he lets his wife 
bully him.’ 


THE LIOHNE. 


143 


^ If he made an unsuitable match that does not show 
his wisdom conspicuously.’ 

‘ It was an unsuitable match, enough, Heaven knows. 
But when he proposed, he was in the state of mind in 
which sensible people do the most foolish things. He 
was a great man in stocks — controlled the market at one 
time — had been buying largely just before the election 
of ’44, when we all expected Henry Clay would get in 
with plenty to spare. When Polk was elected, great 
was the terror of all respectable citizens. My brother 
caught such a fright then, that I don’t think he has 
fairly recovered from it to this day. ' How the stocks 
did tumble down ! Harrison had about nine millions on 
his hands ; he couldn’t keep such a fund, and was forced 
to sell it at any price, and lost just one-third. Just as 
he was beginniog to pick himself up after the shock, and 
wonder, like the sailor whom the conjurer blew up, what 
was to come next, Mr. Whitey, of the Jacobin^ now th^ 
Honourable Pompey Whitey — and one doesn’t see why 
he shouldn’t be, for after all an editor is not, generally 
speaking, a greater blackguard than most of our Congress 
men — Whitey, I say, who for our sins is nominally 
attached to the Conservative party, conceived the bright 
idea of overbidding the enemy for popular favor, and 
proposed — no, he didn’t actually propose in so many 
words, but only strongly hinted at the desirableness of 
the measure — that there should be no more paying rent, 
and a general division of property. I am not sure but 
there were some additional suggestions on the expediency 
of abolishing the Christian religion and the institution 
of matrimony, but that has nothing to do with politics. 
This last drop in the bucket quite overflowed poor Har- 
rison ; so, as if he had said to himself, ‘ Let us eat and 
drink and get married, for to-morrow we shall have a 


144 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


proscription and novcB tabulce^ he rushed oif and pro- 
posed to Miss Lewison.’ 

^ Then, if she accepted him after he lost his fortune, 
it shows she did not marry for money, at any rate.’ 

‘ There you have missed it. He lost the whole of a 
fortune, but not the whole of his. He must have a mil- 
lion of dollars left, and a man with that is not poor in 
any country — certainly it was a great catch for Miss 
Lewison, without a red cent of her own. She jilted a 
Frenchman for him : the unfortunate, or fortunate cast- 
off had ordered much jewellery and other wedding 
presents, and when left in the lurch he quietly proposed 
that, as he had no longer any use for the articles, Harri- 
son, who had, should take them off his hands ; and this 
offer was accepted. Very French in him to make it — 
don’t you think so? — and rather American in the other 
to take it. Well, I hope Harrison will come this way 
soon ; I should really like you to know him.’ 

One or two days after this conversation Ashburner 
met his friend walking up and down the interminable 
piazza of the Bath hotel, arm-in-arm with a middle-aged 
man, who presented as great a contrast to Masters’ usual 
associates, and to Masters himself, as could well be 
imagined. The new-comer was short in stature and 
square-built, rather ugly, and anything but graceful; he 
wore very good clothes, but they were badly put on, and 
looked as if they had never undergone the brush since 
leaving the tailor’s hands ; he wore no gloves, and in 
short had altogether an unfashionable appearance. But 
though indubitably an unfashionable man, he did not give 
you the impression of a vulgar one ; there was nothing 
snobbish or pretentious in his ugliness, and his cavern- 
ous black eye could have belonged only to an intelligent 
and able man. Masters was joking or pressing him upon 
some matter which he seemed unwilling to explain. 


THE LIONNE. 


145 


‘ But do tell me,’ said Harry, as they passed Ash- 
burner, ^ what have you been doing to yourself % Sprained 
your finger by working too hard the night before last 
packet day? or tumbled down from running too fast in 
Wall Street, and not thinking which way you were going?’ 
And he took in his own delicate white hand the rough 
paw of the stranger, which was partly bound up as if 
suffering from some recent injury. 

‘ If you must know,’ said the other, stopping short in 
his walk, ‘ I broke my knuckles on an Irish hackman’s 
teeth. Last week the fellow drove me from the North 
Biver boat to my house in Union Square, and I offered 
him seventy-five cents. He was very insolent, and de- 
manded a dollar. If I had had a dollar-note about me 
I might have given it him, but it happened that I had 
only the six shillings in change ; and so, knowing that 
was two shillings more than his legal fare, I became as 
positive as he. At last he seized my trunk, and then I 
could not resist the temptation of giving him a left-hander 
that sent him clean down the steps into the gutter.’ 

‘ And then?’ 

‘ He made a great bawling, and was beginning to 
draw a crowd about the house, when I walked off to the 
nearest police-station ; and as it turned out that my 
gentleman was known as a troublesome character, they 
threatened to take away his license and have him sent to 
Blackwell’s Island if he didn’t keep quiet : so he was too 
glad to make himself scarce.’ 

‘ By Jove, you deserve a testimonial from the city ! I 
once got twenty dollars damages from an omnibus-driver 
for running into my brougham, knocking off a wheel, and 
dumping my wife and child into the street ; and I 
thought that it was a great exploit ; but this perform- 
ance of yours throws me into the shade.’ 


146 


SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


Just then Masters caught sight of Ashhurner, and 
excusing himself to the other, rushed up to him. 

^ Let me tell you now, before I forget it. We are 
going over to the glen to-morrow to dine, and in fact 
spend the day there. You’ll come, of course?’ 

‘ With great pleasure,’ said Ashburner ; ^ but pray 
don’t let me take you away from your friend.’ 

‘ Oh, that’s only Harrison.’ 

^ We’ meant, of course, our set, with such foreign lions 
as the place afforded, foremost among whom stood Ash- 
burner and Le Roi. Masters, Ludlow, and some of the 
other married men undertook to arrange it, always under 
the auspices of the Robinsons. 

These Robinsons were evidently the leaders in every 
movement of the fashionables, but why they were so was 
not so clear — at least, to Ashburner, though he had abun- 
dant opportunities of studying the whole family. There 
was a father in some kind of business, who occupied the 
usual position of New-York fathers; that is to say, he 
made the money for the rest of the family to spend, and 
showed himself at Oldport once a fortnight or so — pos- 
sibly to pay the bills. There was a mother, stout and 
good-humoured, rather vulgar, very fussy, and no end of 
a talker : she always reminded Ashburner of an ex-lady- 
mayoress. There were three or four young men, sons 
and cousins, with the usual amount of white tie and the 
ordinary dexterity in the polka ; and two daughters, 
both well out of their teens. The knowing ones said 
that one of these young ladies was to have six thousand 
a-year by her grandfather’s will, and the other little or 
nothing ; but it was not generally understoad which was 
the heiress, and the old lady manoeuvred with them as if 
hoik were. This fact, however, was not sufficient to ac- 
count for their rank as belles^ since there were several 


THE LIOJSTHE. 


147 


other girls in their circle quite as well, or better oK 
Nor had their wit or talent any share in giving them 
their position ; on the contrary, people used to laugh at 
the betises of the Robinsons, and make them the butt of 
real or imaginary good stories. And, in point of birth, 
they were not related to the Yan Hornes, the Masters, 
the Yanderlyns, or any of the old Dutch settlers; nor, 
like Bell, Ludlow, and others of their set, sprung from 
the British families of long standing in the city. On 
the very morning of the proposed excursion, Sedley was 
sneering at them for parvenus, and trying to amuse 
Ashburner at their expense with some ridiculous stories 
about them. 

‘And yet,’ said the Englishman, ‘these people are 
your leaders of fashion. You can’t do anything without 
them. They are the head of this excursion that we are 
just going upon. Masters tells me ‘ the Robinsons are 
to be there,’ as if that settled the propriety and desira- 
bility of my being there also.’ 

‘ As to that,’ replied Sedley, ‘ fashionable society is a 
vast absurdity anywhere, and it is only natural that ab- 
surd people should be at the head of it. The Robinsons 
want to be fashionable — it is their only ambition — they 
try hard for it ; and it is generally the case that those 
who devote themselves to any pursuit have some success 
in it, and only right that it should be so. Then they are 
hopelessly good-natured folks, that you can’t insult or 
quarrel with.’ Sedley had so little of this quality him- 
self that he looked on the possession of it as a weakness 
rather than a virtue. ‘ Then they are very fond of good 
living.’ 

‘ Yes, I remember hearing Masters say that he always 
liked to feed Mrs. Robinson at a ball, — it was a perfect 
pleasure to see her eat ; and that when Lowenberg, in 


148 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


the pride of his heart, gave a three days’ d^jeune)'^ or 
lunch, or whatever it was, after his marriage, she was 
seen there three times each day.’ 

^ And he might have told you that they are as liberal 
of their own good things as fond of those of others. Old 
Robinson has some first-rate Madeira, better by a long 
chalk than that Yanderlyn Sercial that Harry Masters 
is always cramming down your throat — metaphorically, 
I mean, not literally. The young men like to drop in 
there of an evening, for they are sure to find a good sup- 
per and plenty of materials ready for punch and polka. 
Then they always manage to catch the newest lions. 
When I first saw you in their carriage alongside of Miss 
Julia, I said to myself, ^ That Englishman must be some- 
body, or the Robinsons would not have laid hold of him 
so soon.’ But their two seasons in Paris were the mak- 
ing of them, — and the unmaking, too, in another sense ; 
for they ate such a hole in their fortune — or, rather, 
their French guests did for them — that it has never re- 
covered its original dimensions to this day. They took 
a grand hotel, and gave magnificent balls, and filled their 
rooms with the Parisian aristocracy. My uncle, who is 
habitue of Paris, was at the Jockey Club one day, and 
heard two exquisites talking about them. ^ Connaissez- 
vous ce Monsieur Robinson V asked one. ^ Est-ce que je 
le connais V replied the other, shrugging his shoulders. 
^ Je mange ses diners^ je danse d ses hals ; vHd tout? 
Yoild tout^ indeed ! That is just all our people get by 
keeping open house for foreigners.’ 

Just then Masters and Ludlow came up, the former 
under much excitement, and the latter in a sad state of 
profanity. As they both insisted on talking at once, it 
was some time before either was intelligible ; at length 
Ashburner made out that the excursion had met with a 


THE LIOHNE. 


149 


double check. In the first place, all the bachelors had 
demanded that Mrs. Harrison should be of the party, in 
which they were sustained by Lowenberg, who, though 
partly naturalized by his marriage, still considered him- 
self sufficiently a stranger to be above all spirit of clique. 
All the other married men had objected, but the Harris- 
onites ultimately carried their point. Of the two principal 
opponents, Ludlow was fairly talked off his feet by the 
voluble patois of Lowenberg, and Masters completely 
put down by the laconic and indexible Sumner. So far 
so bad, but worse was to follow ; for after the horses had 
been ordered, and most of the dadies, including the Eob- 
insons, bonneted and shawled for the start, the lionne^ 
who had, doubtless, heard of the unsuccessful attempt to 
blackball her, and wished to make a further trial of her 
power, suddenly professed a headache, whereupon her 
partisans almost unanimously declared that, as she 
couldn’t go. they didn’t want to go ; and thus the whole 
affair had fallen through. Such was the substance of 
their melancholy intelligence, which they had hardly 
finished communicating when a dea ex machina appeared 
in the person of Mrs. Masters. She declared that it was 
‘ a shame,’ and ‘ too bad,’ and she ‘ had never,’ &c.; and 
brought her remarks to a practical conclusion by vowing 
that she would go, at any rate, whoever chose to stay 
with that woman ; ^ and if no one else goes with us I’m 
sure Mr. Ashburner will :’ at which Ashburner was feign 
to express his readiness to follow her to the end of the 
world, if necessary. Then she followed up her advantage 
by sending a message to Sumner, which took him captive 
immediately ; and as she was well seconded by the Rob- 
insons, who on their part had brought over Le Roi, the 
party was soon reorganized pretty much on its original 
footing. When the cause of all the trouble found herself 


150 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


likely to be left in a minority, her headache vanished 
immediately, in time for her to secure beaux enough to 
fill her barouche, and Mr. Harrison was put into a car- 
riage with the musicians. Mrs. Masters’ vehicle was 
equally well filled ; and Harry, who, by his wife’s orders, 
and much against his own will, had lent his wagon and 
ponies to a young Southerner that was doing the amiable 
to Miss Vanderlyn, had nothing left for it but to go on 
horseback ; in which Ashburner undertook to join him, 
having heard that there was a good bit of turf on the 
road to the glen. 

‘ If you go that way,’ said Mrs. Eobinson, when he 
announced his intention, ‘ you will have another com- 
panion. Mr. Edwards means to ride.’ 

Ashburner had seen Edwards driving a magnificent 
trotter about Oldport, but could not exactly fancy him 
outside of a horse, and conjectured that he would not 
make quite so good a figure as when leading the redowa 
down a long ball-room. But the hero of the dance was 
not forthcoming for sometime, so they mounted. Masters 
his pet Charlie, and the Englishihan the best horse the 
stables of Oldport could furnish, which it is hardly ne- 
cessary to say was not too good a one, and were leaving 
the village leisurely to give the carriages a good start of 
them, when they heard close behind the patter of a light- 
stepping horse,, and the next moment Tom Edwards 
ranged up alongside. The little man rode a bright bay 
mare, rising above fifteen hands, nearly full-blooded, but 
stepping steadily and evenly, without any of that fidget 
and constant change of gait which renders so many blood- 
horses anything but agreeable to ride, and carrying her 
head and tail to perfection. He wore white cord trou- 
sers, a buff waistcoat, and a very natty white hair-cloth 
cap. His coat was something between a summer sack 


THE LIOHNE. 


151 


and a cutaway, — the colour, a rich green of some peculiar 
and indescribable shade. His spurs were very small, but 
highly polished ; and, instead of a whip, he carried a lit- 
tle red cane with a carved ivory head. In his marvel- 
lously-fitting white buckskin glove he managed a rein of 
some mysterious substance that looked like a compound 
of indian-rubber and sea-weed. He sat his mare beauti- 
fully — with a little too much aim at effect, perhaps ; but 
gracefully and firmly at the same time. Ashburner 
glanced at his own poor beast and wished for Daredevil, 
whose antics he had frequently controlled with great suc- 
cess at Devilshoof ; and Masters could not help looking a 
little mortified, for Charlie was not very well off for tail, 
and had recollections of his harness-days, which made 
him drop his head at times, and pull like a steam-engine ; 
besides which, Harry — partly, perhaps, from motives of 
economy, partly, as he said, because he thought it snob- 
bish to ride in handsome toggery-7-always mounted in 
the oldest clothes he had, and with a well-used bridle 
and saddle. But there was no help for it now, so off the 
three went together at a fair trot, and soon overtook most 
of the party, Edwards putting his spurs into the bay mare 
and showing off her points and his horsemanship at every 
successive vehicle they passed. 

The piece of turf which Masters had promised his 
friend was not quite so smooth as Newmarket heath, but 
it was more than three quarters of a mile long, and suffi- 
ciently level to be a great improvement on the heavy and 
sandy road. So unaccustomed, however, are Americans 
to ‘ riding on grass,’ that Edwards could not be persuad- 
ed to quit the main path until Masters had repeatedly 
challenged him to a trot on the green. As soon as the 
two horses were fairly alongside they went off, without 
waiting the signal from their riders, at a pace which kept 


152 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


Ashburner at a hand-gallop. For awhile they were neck- 
and-neck, Masters and Charlie hauling against each 
other, the rider with his weight thrown back in the stir- 
rups and labouring to keep his ^fast crab ’ from breaking, 
while the mare struck out beautifully with a moderate 
pull on the rein. Then as Masters, who carried no whip, 
began to get his horse more in hand, he raised a series of 
yells in true jockey fashion to encourage his own animal 
and break up Edwards’s. The mare skipped — Tom 
caught her in an instant, but she fell off in her stroke from 
being held up, and Charlie headed her a length ; then he 
gave her her head, and she broke — once, twice, three 
times ; and every time Masters drew in his horse, who 
was now well settled down to his work, and waited for 
Edwards to come on. At last, his mare and he both lost 
their tempers at once. She started for a run, and he 
dropped the reins on her neck and let her go. At the 
same instant Masters struck both spurs into Charlie, 
who was a rare combination of trotter and runner, and 
away went the two at full gallop. Ashburner’s hack 
was left behind at once, but he could see them going on 
close together, tooling their horses capitally ; Edwards’s 
riding being the more graceful, and Masters’ the more 
workmanlike ; the mare leading a trifle, as he thought, 
and Charlie pressing her close. Suddenly Edwards 
waved his cane as in triumph, but the next moment he 
and his mare disappeared, as if the earth had swallowed 
them up, while Masters’ horse sheered off ten feet to 
the left. 


153 


CHAPTEE VII. 


LIFE AT A WATERIJSTG-PLAC E. — T H E 
DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 



E left Tom Edwards mysteriously swallowed up, like 


* » a stage ghost down a trap-door. And do you know, 
reader, I am very near leaving him so for good and all, 
and suspending these sketches indefinitely — yea, even to 
the time of the Mississippi dividends, or any other period 
beyond the Greek Calends that your imagination can 
conjure up. For the wise men — and the wise women, 
too — of Gotham are wroth with me, and one says that I 
am writing on purpose to libel this man or puff that 
woman, and another charges me with sketching my own 
life in Fraser for self-glorification, and a third holds up 
the last number of Pendennis at me and says, ‘ If you 
could write like that^ there would be some excuse for you, 
but you won’t as long as you live.’ ‘ Alas, no !’ said I, 
and was just going to burn my unfinished papers, and 
vow that I would never again turn aside from my old 
craft of reviewing. But then came reflection in the shape 
of a bottle of true Dutch courage — genuine Knicker- 
bocker Madeira — and said ‘ Why should you be respon- 
sible for resemblances you never meant, if people will 
insist on finding them ? Consider how prone readers, 
and still more hearers who take their reading at second 
hand, are to suppose that the author, be he great or 
small, must have represented himself in some one of his 


154 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


personages.’ True enough, Mr. Bottle ; for instance, 
any one of oui^ fashionables will tell you that, ‘ our 
spirituel and accomplished friend' (as Slingsby calls him), 
M. Le Vicomte Vincent Le Boi, is the hero of his thrilling 
romance, Le Chevalier Bazalion — why they should, or 
what possible resemblance they can find between the * 
real man in New- York, and the ideal one in the novel, it 
passeth my poor understanding to discover. Bazalion 
is a stalwart six-footer, who goes about knocking people’s 
brains out, scaling inaccessible precipices, defending cas- 
tles single-handed against a regiment or two, and, by way 
of relaxation after this hard work, victimizing all the fair 
dames and blooming damsels that come in his way — 
breaking the hearts of all the women when he has broken 
the heads of all the men. Le Boi is a nice gentlemanly 
man, of the ordinary size, who sings prettily and talks 
well, and makes himself generally agreeable, and not at 
all dangerous in society — much the more Christian and 
laudable occupation, it seems to me. If ever he does 
bore you, it is with his long stories, not with a long pike 
as Bazalion used to do. Be the absurdity, then, on the 
head of him who makes it ; Qui vult clecipi decvpiatur : 
if any one chooses to think that 1 am bodied forth under 
the character of Harry Masters, and am, in consequence, 
a handsome young man, who can do a little of everything 

instead of but never mind what ; your actor has not 

yet sufficient standing to come down before the footlights, 
and have his little bit of private chaff with the audience. 
Only this will I say, so help me N. P. Willis, I mean to 
go on with these sketches till they are finished, provided 
always that Fraser will take them so long, and that you 
continue to read them, or fall into a sweet and soothing 
slumber over them, as the case may be. For if we are 
all to shut up shop until we can write as well as Mr. 


THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


155 


Titmarsh, there will be too extensive a bankruptcy of 
literary establishments 

Before Ashburner could form any conjecture to ac- 
count for the evanishment of Edwards — indeed, before 
he could altogether realize it to himself — the little man’s 
head re-appeared above the ground, though there were 
no signs of his horse ; and at the same time Masters be- 
gan to ride round the scene of the catastrophe, at an easy 
canter, laughing immoderately. The Englishman shook 
up his brute into the best gallop he could get out of him, 
and a few more strides brought him near enough to see 
the true state of things. There was a marsh at no great 
distance, which rendered the grass in the immediate 
vicinity moist and sloppy, and just in this particular spot 
the action of the water had caved away a hole precisely 
large enough to receive a horse and rider — it could hard- 
ly have made a more accurate grave had they been mea- 
sured for it — and so masked by a slight elevation in 
front, that it was ten to one any person riding over the 
ground at such a rate, and unacquainted with the posi- 
tion of this trap, but must fall headlong into it, as Ed- 
wards had done. There was some reason to suspect that 
our friend Harry, who was an habitual rider, and knew the 
environs of Oldport pretty well, and was fonder of all short 
cuts and going over grass than most American horsemen 
are. had not been altogether ignorant of the existence of 
the pitfall ; it looked very much as if he had led Edwards, 
who was no particular friend of his, purposely into it : 
but if such was the case, he kept his own counsel. When 
the fallen man and mare had scrambled out of the hole, 
which they did before Masters had offered to help them, 
or Ashburner had time to be of any assistance, it appeared 
that she had sprained her off fore-ankle, and hejais nigh 
wrist. But they were close to the main road ; by good 


156 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


luck a boy was found to conduct the animal home, and 
by a still greater piece of good luck the Robinsons’ car- 
riage happened to be coming along just then, so the 
little man, who did not take up much room, was popped 
into it, and as much pitied and mourned over by the lady 
occupants as was jplre Guilleri in the French song. And, 
to do him justice, even without this consolation, he had 
taken his mishap very quietly from the first, as soon as 
he found himself not injured in any vital, i. e. dancing 
part. 

Having finished their road at a more leisurely pace^ 
our two horsemen arrived at the glen after most of the 
company were assembled there. And as the place was 
one of general resort, they noticed traces of other par- 
ties, people of the Simpson class, hail-fellow-well-met 
men, who didn’t dance but took it out in drinking, and 
who, in their intercourse with the other sex, betrayed 
more vulgar familiarity and less refined indecency than 
characterized the men and boys of Bell, Edwards, Ro- 
binson, and Co.’s*set. But of these it may be supposed 
that the set took no heed. There was some really pretty 
scenery about the glen, but they took no heed of that 
either — to be sure, most of them had seen it at least 
once before. They had gone straight to the largest par- 
lour of the house, and led, as usual, by the indefatigable 
Edwards, had begun their tricks with the chairs. Booted 
and spurred as he was, and with his arm in a sling, the 
ever-ready youth had already arranged the German 
cotillon, taking the head himself, and constituting Sum- 
ner his second in command. Masters was left out of 
this dance for coming too late, one of the ladies told him j 
but he did not find the punishment very severe, as he 
rather preferred walking with Ashburner, and showing 
him the adjacent woods. As they passed out through 


THE DOa OF ALCIBIADES. 


157 


several specimens of the Simpson species, who were 
smoking and lounging around the door, Ashburner nearly 
ran over a very pretty young woman who was coming up 
the steps. She was rather rustically, but not unbecom- 
ingly dressed, and altogether so fresh and rosy that it was 
a treat to see her after the fine town ladies, even the 
youngest of whom were beginning to look faded and 
jaded from the dissipation of the season. But when she 
opened her mouth in reply to Masters’ affable salutation, 
it was like the girl in the fairy tale dropping toads and 
adders, so nasal, harsh, and inharmonious was the tone in 
which she spoke. 

^ That’s Mrs. Simpson,’ said Harry, as they went on, 
‘ the Bird’s wife. Pretty little woman : what a pity she 
has that vulgar accent! She belongs to New England 
originally ; one finds many such girls here, every way 
charming until they begin to talk. But I suppose you 
saw no difference between her and any of us. In your 
ears we all speak with a barbarous accent — at least you 
feel bound to think so.’ 

‘ What do you think, yourself? You have known a 
good many of my countrymen, and heard them talk, and 
are able to make the comparison. Do you, or do you not, 
find a difference V 

‘ To say the truth, I do ; it is a thing I never think 
seriously of denying, for it seems to me neither singular 
nor to be ashamed of. You can tell an Irishman from a 
Londoner by his accent : so you can a Scotchman : or a 
Yorkshireman for that matter : why should you not be 
able to tell an American ? The error of your country- 
men consists in attributing to all our people the nasal 
twang, which is almost peculiar to one section of the 
country. If I were asked the peculiar characteristic of 
a New-Yorker’s speech, I should say monotone. Notice 
8 


158 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


any one of^our young men — ^you will find his conversa- 
tional voice always pitched in the same key. Sumner 
goes on at the same uniform growl. Edwards in an un- 
varied buzz. When I first landed in England, I was 
struck with the much greater variety of tone one hears in 
ordinary conversation. Your women, especially, seemed 
to me always just going to sing. And I fancied the ad- 
dress of the men affected — just as, very likely, this mono- 
tone of ours seems affected to you.’ 

‘ What I remark most is a hardness and dryness of 
voice, as if the extremes of climate here had an injurious 
effect on the vocal organs.’ 

‘ Perhaps they do ; and yet I think you will find a 
better average of singers, male and female, in our 
society than in yours, notwithstanding our fashionables 
are so engrossed by dancing. Holla ! here’s Harrison. 
How are you, old fellow? and how are the Texas 
Inconvertibles ?’ 

It was indeed the broker, wandering moodily alone. 
What had he in common with the rest of the company 
— the fops and flirts, the dancing men and dancing 
women? The males all snubbed and despised him, 
from tall Bell, down to little Bobinson ; the women 
were hardly conscious of his existence. He knew, too, 
that he could thrash any man there in a fair stand-up 
fight, or buy out any three of them, ay, or talk any of 
them down in the society of sensible and learned people ; 
and this very consciousness of superiority only served to 
embitter his position the more. There were other sets, 
doubtless, who would have welcomed him gladly, but 
either they were not sufficiently to his taste to attract 
him, or he was in no mood to receive consolation from 
their sympathy. So he wandered alone, untouched by 
the charming scenery about him — a man whom nobody 


THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


159 


cared for ; and when Masters addressed him genially, 
and in an exuberance of spirits threw his arm over the 
other’s neck as they walked side by side, the broker’s 
heart seemed to expand towards the man who had shown 
him this slight profession of kindness, his intelligent 
eyes lighted up, and he began to talk out cheerfully and 
unassumingly all that was in him. 

Harrison’s own narrative of his personal prowess, as 
well as the qualified panegyric pronounced upon him by 
Masters, had led Ashburner to expect to find in him a 
manly person with some turn for athletic sports and 
good living, but no particular intellectual endowments 
beyond such as his business demanded. He was, there- 
fore, not a little astonished at (inasmuch as he was 
altogether unprepared for) the variety of knowledge and 
. the extent of mental cultivation which the broker dis- 
played as their conversation went on. They talked of 
the hills and valleys, and ravines and water-courses 
around theni, and Harrison compared this place with 
others in a way that showed a ready observer of the 
beauties of nature. They talked of Italy, and Harrison 
had at his fingers’ ends the principal palaces in every 
city, and the best pictures in every palace. They talked 
of Greece, and Harrison quoted Plato. They talked of 
England and France, and Harrison displayed a familiar 
acquaintance, not merely with the statistics of the two 
countries, but also with the habits and characteristics of 
their people. Finally, they talked on the puzzling topic 
of American society — puzzling in its transition state and 
its singular contrasts — and, whether the broker’s views 
Tvere correct or not, they were anything but common- 
place or conventional. 

^ Our fashionable society has been all a mistake 
hitherto,’ said Harry (Ashburner could not well make 


160 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


out whether there was a spice of irony in his observa- 
tion) ; Mrs. Masters and some others are going to 
reform it indifferently. The women thus far have been 
lost sight of after marriage, and have left the field fcc 
the young girls. Now they are beginning to wake up 
to their rights and privileges.’ 

‘ They will not remedy any of the present evils in 
that way,’ answered Harrison, apparently addressing 
himself to Ashburner, but he seemed to be talking at 
Masters, and through him at Masters’ wife, or his own, 
or both of them. ^ Our theory and practice was that 
a young girl should enjoy herself in all freedom ; that 
her age and condition were those of pleasure and frolic — 
of dissipation, if you will — that after her marriage she, 
comparatively speaking, retired from the world, not 
through any conventional rule or imaginary standard of 
propriety, but of her own free will and the natural course 
of things; because the cares of maternity and her house- 
hold gave her sufficient employment at home. A woman 
who takes a proper interest in her family gives them the 
first place in her thoughts, and is always ready to talk 
about them. Now these domestic details are the greatest 
possible bore to a mere fashionable casual drawing-room 
acquaintance. Hence you see that the French, whose 
chief aim is to talk well in a drawing-room or an opera 
box, utterly detest and unmercifully ridicule everything 
connected with domesticity or home life. On the other 
hand, if a married woman never talks about these things 
or lets you think of them, she does not take a proper 
interest in her family. No, the fault of youth is with 
the other sex. There are too few men about, and too 
many boys. And the more married belles there are the 
more will the boys be encouraged. For your married 
belles like to have men about them younger than them- 


THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


161 


selves — it makes them appear younger, or at least they 
think so; and besides, such youths are more easily 
managed and more subservient. But, still worse, the more 
these boys usurp the place of men in society, the more 
boyish and retrograde will the few men become who con- 
tinue to divide the honours of society with them. When 
Plato enumerated among the signs of a republic in the 
last stage of decadence, that the youth imitate and rival 
old men, and the old men let themselves down to a level 
with the youth, he anticipated exactly the state of things 
that has come to pass among us. Look at that little 
friend of yours with the beard — I don’t mean Edwards, 
but an older man about his size.’ 

‘ Dicky Bleecker, I suppose you mean,’ growled 
Masters: Mie’s as much your friend — or your wife’s — 
as he is mine.’ 

‘Well, he is my contemporary, I may say ; perhaps 
five years at most my junior. What perceptible sign of 
mature age or manliness is there about him ? In what 
is he superior to or distinguishable from young Snelling, 
who but this season rejoices in his first white tie and 
first horse, and the fruits of his first course of dancing 
lessons V 

‘ Well, but consider,’ says Masters, who was always 
ready to take up any side of an argument — it is one of 
the first criticisms Ashburner made on American con- 
versation, that the men seemed to talk for victory rather 
than for truth — ‘ it stands to reason, that an intelligent 
married woman must be better able than a girl to con- 
verse with a mature man, and her conversation must 
have more attraction for him. As to our boys coming 
out too soon, doubtless they do, but that depends not on 
the persons ready to receive them, but on the general 
social system of the country which pushes them into 


162 SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


the world so early. For instance, I was left my own 
master at twenty-one. So, too, with the want of proper 
progress and growth in knowledge of the men. It is 
and must he so with the man of fashion everywhere, for 
he is not occupied in learning things that have a ten- 
dency to develope or improve his mind, but the contrary. 
I myself have seen Frenchmen of fifty as easily amused 
and as eager after trifles as boys.’ 

‘ Frenchmen !’ sneered the other ; ‘ yes, but they are- 
boys all their lives, except in innocence.’ 

^Yery amusing and pleasant, at any rate; the best 
people for travelling accquaintances that I know.’ 

^ Exactly — very pleasant to know for a little while. 
I have met with a great many Frenchmen who impressed 
me favourably, and I used to think as you say. what amus- 
ing people they were, but I never had occasion to live 
with one for any length of time without finding him a 
bore and a nuisance. A Frenchman turns himself inside 
out, as it were, at once. He shows off all that there is 
to show on first accquaintance. You see the best of him 
immediately, and afterwards there is nothing left but 
repetitions of the same things, and eternal dissertations 
on himself and his own affairs. He is like a wide shallow 
house, with a splendid front externally and scanty furni- 
ture inside.’ 

‘ Yery true, and an Englishman (don’t blush. Ash- 
burner) is like a suite of college-rooms in one of his own 
university towns — a rusty exterior, a dark narrow 
passage along which you find your way with difficulty ; 
and when you do get in, jolly and comfortable apart- 
ments open suddenly upon you ; and as you come to 
examine them more carefully, you discover all sorts of 
snug, little, out-of-the-way closets and recesses, full of old 
books and old wine, and all things rich and curious. But 


THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


168 


the entrance is uninviting to a casual accquaintance. 
NoWj when you find an American of the right stamp ’ 
(here Masters’ hands were accidentally employed in ad- 
justing his cravat), ^he hits the proper medium, and is 
accessible as a Frenchman and as true as an English- 
nan.’ 

Ashburner was going to express a doubt as to the 
compatibility of the two qualities, when Harrison struck 
in again. 

^ On that account I never could see why Frenchmen 
should be dreaded as dangerous in society. They fling 
out all their graces at once, exhaust all their powers of 
fascination, and soon begin to be tiresome. How many 
cases I have seen where a Frenchman fancied he was 
making glorious headway in a lady’s affections, and that 
she was just ready to fall into his arms, when she was 
only ready to fall asleep in his face, and was civil to him 
only from a great sacrifice of inclination to politeness.’ 

^ Very pleasant it must be to a lady,’ said Ashburner, 
‘ that a man should be at the same time wearying her to 
death with his company, and perilling her reputation out 
of doors by his language.’ 

‘ By Jove, it’s dinner time ! ’ exclaimed Masters, 
pulling out a microscopic G-eneva watch. ‘ I thought the 
clock of my inner man said as much.’ And back they 
hurried through the woods to the Glen House, but were 
as late for the dinner as they had been for the dance. 
Harrison and Masters found seats at the lower end of 
the table, where they established themselves ether, 
and began, a propos of Edwards’s misadventure, to talk 
horse, either because they had exhausted all other sub- 
jects, or because they did not think the company worthy 
a better one. Mrs. Masters beckoned Ashburner up to 
a place by her, but, somehow, he found himself opposite 


164 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


Mrs. Harrison’s eyes, and though he could not remember 
anything she said ten minutes after, her conversation, or 
looks, or both, had the effect of transferring to her all 
the interest he was beginning to feel for her husband — 
of whom, by the way, she took no more notice than if he 
did not belong to her. 

^ Poor Harrison ! ’ said Masters, as he and Ashburner 
were walking their horses leisurely homeward that even- 
ing (they both had too much sense to ride fast after din- 
ner), ‘ he is twice thrown away ! He might have been a 
literary gentleman and a lover of art, living quietly on a 
respectable fortune ; but his father would make him go 
into business. He might be a model family man, and at 
the same time a very entertaining member of society ; 
but his wife has snubbed and suppressed him for her own 
exaltation. If, instead of treating him thus, she would 
only show him a little gratitude as the source of all her 
luxury and magnificence, her dresses and jewellery, her 
carriage and horses (what a pair of iron-greys she does 
drive !) and all her other splendours, — if she would only 
be proud of him as the great broker — not to speak of his 
varied knowledge, of which she might also well be proud, — 
if she would take some little pains to interest herself in 
his pleasures and to bring him forward in society, — how 
easily she could correct and soften his little uncouthness 
of person and dress, if she would take the trouble ! Why 
should she be ashamed of him ? He is older than she — 
how much ? ten years perhaps, or twelve at most. He is 
not a beauty ; but in a man, I should say, mind comes 
before good looks ; and how infinitely superior he is in 
mind and soul to'any of the frivolous little beaux, native 
or foreign, whom she delights to draw about her !’ 

‘ I fear I never shall be able to regard Mr. Harrison 
with as much respect as you do. It may be ignorance, 


THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


165 


but I never could see much difference between a specula- 
tor in stocks and a gambler.’ 

‘ When a man is in his predicament domestically there 
are three things, to one, two, or all of which he is pretty 
sure to take — drink, gambling, and horses. Harrison is 
too purely intellectu i h m: n to be led away by the vul- 
gar animal temptation of liquor, though he has a good cel- 
lar, and sometimes consoles himself with a snug bachelor 
dinner. Stock-jobbing is, as you say, only another sort 
of gambling, and this is his vice : at the same time you 
will consider that it is his business, to which he was 
brought up. Then, for absolute relaxation, he has his 
‘ fast crab.’ Put him behind his 2^ 45^^ stepper, and he 
is happy for an hour or two, an 1 forgets his miseries — 
that is to say, his wife.’ 

‘ But you talk as if his marriage was the cause of his 
speculations, whereas you told me the other day that his 
speculations were the indirect cause of his marriage.’ 

‘ You are right : I believe the beginning of that bad 
habit must be set down to his father’s account ; but the 
continuance of it is still chargeable on his wife. I have 
heard him say myself, that he would have retired from 
business long ago but for Mrs. Harrison — that is to say, 
he had to go on making money to supply her extra- 
vagance.’ 

One fine morning there was a great bustle and fiurry ; 
moving of trunks, and paying of bills, and preparations 
for departure. The fashionables were fairly starved out, 
and had gone off in a body. The brilliant equipages of 
Ludlow and Lowenberg, the superfine millinery of the 
Bobinsons, the song and story of the Yicomte, the inde- 
fatigable revolutions of Edwards, were all henceforth to 
be lost to the sojourners at Oldport. Mr. Grabster 
heeded not this practical protest against the error of his 
8 * 


166 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


ways. He had no difficulty in filling the vacant rooms, 
for a crowd of people from all parts of the Union con- 
stantly thronged Oldport, attracted by its reputation for 
coolness and salubrity ; and he rather preferred people 
from the West and South, as they knew less about civil- 
ized life, and were more easily imposed upon. To be 
sure, even they would find out in time the deficiencies of 
his establishment, and report them at home ; but mean- 
while he hoped to fill his pockets for two or three seasons 
under cover .of The Sewer's puffs, and then, when busi- 
ness fell off, to impose on his landlord with some plausi- 
ble story, and obtain a lowering of his rent. 

Some few — a very few — of ^ our set ’ were left. Our 
friend Harry stayed, because the air of the place agreed 
remarkably with the infant hope of the Masters ; and a 
few of the beaux remained — among them Sumner, Bell, 
and Sedley — either out of friendship for Masters or re- 
tained by the attractions of Mrs. Masters, or those of 
Mrs. Harrison ; for the lionne stayed of course, it being 
her line to do just whatever the exclusives did not do. 
But though Masters remained, he was not disposed to 
suffer in silence. All this while The Sewer had been filled 
with letters lauding everything about the Bath Hotel ; 
and communications equally disinterested, and couched 
in the same tone, had found their way into some more 
respectable prints. Masters undertook the thankless 
task of undeceiving the public. . He sat down one even- 
ing and wrote off a spicy epistle to The Blunder and 
Bluster^ setting forth how things really were at Oldport. 
Two days after when the New- York mail arrived, great 
was the wrath of Mr. Grabster. He called into council 
the old gentleman with the melodious daughter. The 
Stiver reporters, and some other boarders who were in 
his confidence ; and made magnificent but rather vague 


THE HOG OF ALCIBIAHES. 


167 


promises, of what he would do for the man who should 
discover the daring individual who had thus bearded him 
in his very den : simult^ineously he wrote to The Blunder 
and Bluster^ demanding the name of the oflPender. With 
most American editors, such a demand (especially if 
followed up with a good dinner or skilfully applied tip 
to the reporter or correspondent) would have been per- 
fectly successful. But he of The Blunder and Bluster 
was a much higher style of man. As Masters once said 
of him, he had, in his capacity of the first political journ- 
alist in the country, associated so much with gentlemen, 
that he had learned to be something of a gentleman him- 
self Accordingly he replied to Mr. Grabster, in a note 
more curt than courteous, that it was impossible to com- 
ply with his request. So the indignant host was obliged 
to content himself for the time with ordering The Sewer 
to abuse the incognito. Before many days, however, he 
obtained the desired information through another source, 
in this wise. 

Oldport had its newspaper, of course. Every Ameri- 
can village of more than ten houses has its newspaper. 
Mr. Cranberry Fuster, who presided over the destinies 
of The Oldport Daily Twaddlef)\ added to this honour- 
able and amiable occupation the equally honourable and 
amiable one of village attorney. Though his paper was 
in every sense a small one, he felt and talked as big as if 
it had been The Times ^ or The Moniteur^ or The Blunder 
and Bluster. He held the President of the United States 
as something almost beneath his notice, and was in 
the habit of lecturing the Czar of Bussia, the Emperor 
of Austria, and other foreign powers, in true Little Ped- 
lington style. Emboldened by the impunity which at- 
tended these assaults, he undertook to try his hand on 
matters nearer home, and boldly essayed one season to 


168 


SitETOHES OE AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


write down the polka and redowa as indecent and immo- 
ral. But here he found, as Alexander, Napoleon, and 
other great men, had done before him, that there is a 
limit to all human power. He might better have tried 
to write off the roof of the Bath Hotel, which was rather 
a fragile piece of work, and might have been carried away 
by much less wind than usually served to distend the 
columns of The Twaddler, The doughty Tom Edwards 
snapped his heels, so to speak, in the face of the mighty 
editor, and the exclusives continued to polk more frantic- 
ally than ever in the teeth of his direst fulminations. 
One practical effect, however, these home diatribes had? 
which his luminous sallies on foreign affairs altogether 
failed to effect — they put money into his pocket. The 
next thing the Americans like to hearing themselves well 
praised, is to hear somebody, even if it be themselves, 
well abused ; and accordingly, on the mornings when Mr. 
Fuster let out an anti-polka article, the usually small cir- 
culation of his small sheet was multiplied by a very 
large factor— almost every stranger bought a copy, the 
million to see the abuse of the fashionables, the fashion- 
ables to see the abuse of themselves. 

Masters in the course of his almost annual visits to 
Oldport Springs, had been frequently amused by the an- 
tics of this formidable gentleman, and had laudably con- 
tributed to make them generally known. Once, when 
Mr. Fuster had politely denominated the Austrian em- 
peror ^a scoundrel,’ Harry moved The Blunder and 
Bluster to say, that it was very sorry for that potentate, 
who would undoubtedly be overwhelnied with mortifica- 
tion when he learned that The Twaddler entertained 
such an opinion of him. Whereupon Fuster, who was of 
a literal dulness absolutely joke-proof, struck off a flam- 
ing article on ‘ the aristocratic sympathies of The Blunder 


TaU BOa OB ALCIBIABES. 


169 


and Bluster^ which, like a British Whig and Federal 
journal as it was, always came to the rescue of tyrants 
and despots,’ &c. &c. On another occasion — the very 
morning of a state election — The Twaddler had announ- 
ced, with a great flourish,^ that before its next sheet was 
issued Mr. Brown would be invested with the highest 
honours that the state could confer upon him.’ But 
even American editors are not always infallible ; Mr. 
Brown came out sadly in the minority, and the day after 
The Blunder and Bluster had a little corner paragraph 
to this effect:-— 

^ We sincerely regret to see that our amusing little 
contemporary^ The Oldport Daily Twaddler, has sus- 
pended publication? 

At this Mr. Fuster flared up fearfully, and threaten- 
ed to sue The Blunder and Bluster for libel. 

Now this magniloquent editor, who professed to be a 
great moral reformer at home, and to regulate the desti- 
nies of nations abroad, was in truth the mere creature 
and toady of Mr. Grrabster, the greater part of the reve- 
nue of his small establishment being derived from print- 
ing the bills and advertisements of the Bath Hotel. 
As in dut}^ bound, therefore, he set to work to abuse the 
anonymous assailant of that actrociously-kept house, call- 
ing him a quantity of heterogeneous names, and more 
than insinuating that he was a person who had never 
been in good society, and did not know what good living 
was, because he found fault with the living at the Bath 
Hotel. The leader wound up with a more than ever ex- 
aggerated eulogy of Mr. Grrabster and his ‘ able and gen- 
tlemanly assistants.’ Masters happened to get hold of 
this number of The Twaddler one evening when he had 
nothing to do, and those dangerous implements, pen, ink, 
and paper, were, within his reach. Beginning to note 


170 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


down the absurdities and non sequiturs in Mr. Fuster’s 
article, he found himself writing a very chaffy letter to 
The Twaddler. He had an unfortunate talent for cor- 
respondence had Masters, like most of his countrymen ; so, 
giving the reins to his whim, he finished the epistle, mak- 
ing it very spicy and satirical, with a garnish of smiles 
and classical quotations — altogether rather a neat piece 
of work, only it might have been objected to as a waste 
of cleverness, and building a large wheel to break a very 
small bug upon. Then he dropped it into the post-office 
himself, never dreaming that Cranberry would publish it, 
but merely anticipating the wrath of the little-great man 
on receiving such a communication. It chanced, however, 
not long before, that Masters, in the course of some legal 
proceedings, had been to sign papers and ‘ take fifty cents’ 
worth of affidavit,’ as he himself phrased it, before Mr. 
Fuster in his legal capacity. The latter gentleman had 
thus the nleans of identifying, by comparison, the hand- 
writing of the pseudonymous letter. In a vast fit of in- 
dignation, not unmingled with satisfaction, he brought 
out next day Harry’s letter at full length, to the great 
peril of the Latin quotations, and then followed it up 
with a rejoinder of his own, in which he endeavoured to 
take an attitude of sublime dignity, backed up by clas- 
sical quotations also, to show that he understood Latin 
as well as Masters. But the attempt was as unsuccess- 
ful as it was elaborate, for his anger broke through in 
every other sentence, making the intended ‘ smasher ’ an 
extraordinary compound of superfine writing and vulgar 
abuse. 

When, in the course of human events (he began) it becomes 
necessary for men holding our lofty and responsible position to stoop 
to the chastisement of pretentious ignorance and imbecility, we 
shall not be found to shrink from the task. The writer of the above 


THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


171 


letter is Mr. Henry Masters, a young man of property, and a Federal 
Whig. He insinuates that we are very stupid. It’s no such thing ; 
we are not stupid a bit, and we mean to show Mr. M. as much before 
we have done with him. Mr. Masters is a pompous young aristocrat, 
and Mr. Grabster is more of a gentleman than he is — and so are we 
too for that matter. He says the Bath Hotel is a badly kept liouse. 
We say it isn’t, and we know a great deal better than he does. We 
have dined there very often, and found the fare and attendance excel- 
lent ; and so did the Honourable Theophilus Q,. Smith, of Arkansas, 
last summer, when he came to enjoy the invigorating breezes of this 
healthful locality. That distinguished and remarkable man expressed 
himself struck with the arrangements of the Bath Hotel, which left 
him no cause, he said, to regret the comforts of his western home. 
But this establishment cannot please the fastidious Mr. Masters I 
0 tempora^ 0 Moses / as Cicero said to Cataline, quosque tan- 
dem ? 

And SO on for three columns. 

Likewise The Sewer ^ which had begun to blackguard 
The Blunder and Bluster's correspondent while he re- 
mained under the shelter of his pseudonym, now that his 
name was known, came out with double virulence, and 
filled half a sheet with filthy abuse of Harry, including 
collateral assaults on his brother, grandmother, and 
second cousins, and most of the surviving members of 
his wife’s family. But as Masters never read The Sewer ^ 
this part of the attack was an utter waste of Billingsgate 
so far as he was concerned. What did surprise and 
annoy him was to find that The Inexpressible^ which 
though well-known to be a stupid, was generally consid- 
ered a decent paper, had taken the enemy’s side, 
and published some very impertinent paragraphs about 
him Afterwards he discovered that he bad been the 
victim of a principle. The Inexpressible and Blunder 
and Bluster had a little private quarrel of their own, and 
the former felt bound to attack everything in any way 
connected with the latter. 

Neverthelsss Masters was not very much distressed 


172 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


even at this occurrence, for a reason which we shall now 
^ve at length, and which will at the same time explain 
the propriety of the heading we have given to this num- 
ber. While evreybody was reading The Sewer and The 
Twaddler^ and the more benevolent were pitying Harry 
for having started such a nest of editorial and other 
blackguards about his ears, and the more curious were 
wondering whether he would leave the hotel and resign 
the field of battle to the enemy, our friend really cared 
very litte about the matter, except so far as he could use 
it for a blind to divert attention from another affair 
which he had on hand, and which it was of the greatest 
importance to keep secret, lest it should draw down the 
interference of the local authorities : in short, he had a de- 
fiance to mortal combat impending over him, which dan- 
gerous probability he had brought upon himself in this 
wise. 

Among the beaux who remained after the Hegira of 
the fashionables, was a Mr. Storey Hunter, who had 
arrived at Oldport only just before that great event, 
for he professed to be a traveller and a travelling man, 
and, to keep up the character, never came to a place 
when other people did, but always popped up unex- 
pectedly in the middle, or at the end, of a season, as 
if he had just dropped from the moon, or arrived from 
the antipodes. He had an affectation of being foreign — 
not English, or French, or Herman, or like any par- 
ticular European nation, but foreign in a general sort 
of way, something not American ; and always, on 
whichever side of the Atlantic he was, hailed from some 
locality ; at one time describing himself in hotel books 
as from England, at another as from Paris, at another 
from Baden — from anywhere, in short, except his own 
native village in Connecticut. In accordance with this 


THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


173 


principle, moreover, he carefully eschewed the indige- 
nous habits of dress ; and while all the other men ap- 
peared at the halls in dress coats, and black or white 
cravats, be usually displayed a flaming scarlet or blue 
tie, a short frock coat, and yellow or brown trousers. 
A man six feet high, and nearly as many round, is a 
tolerably conspicuous object in most places, even with- 
out any marked peculiarities of dress ; and when to this 
it is added, that Mr. Hunter exhibited on his shirt-front 
and watch-chain trinkets enough to stock a jeweller’s 
shop, and that he was always redolent of the most fash- 
ionable perfumes, it may be supposed that he was not 
likely to escape notice at Oldport. His age no one knew 
exactly ; some of the old stagers gave him forty years 
and more, but he was in a state of wonderful preserva- 
tion, had a miraculous dye for his whiskers, and a per- 
petually fresh colour in his cheeks. Sedley used to say 
he rouged, and that you might see the marks of it inside 
his collar ; but this may have been only an accident in 
shaving. He rather preferred French to English in con- 
versation ; and with good reason, for when he used the 
former language, you might suppose (with your eyes 
shut) that you were talking to a very refined gentleman, 
whereas, so soon as he opened his mouth in the vernacu- 
lar, the provincial Yankee stood revealed before you. 
As to his other qualities and merits, he appeared to have 
plenty of money, and was an excellent and indefatigable 
dancer. Ashburner, when he saw him spin round morn- 
ing after morning, and night after night, till he all 
but melted away himself, and threatened to drown his 
partner, thought he must have the laudable motive of 
wishing to reduce his bulk, which, however, continued un- 
diminished. Notwithstanding his travels and accom- 
plishments, which, especially the dancing, were sufficient 


174 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


to give him a passport to the best society, there were 
some who regarded him with very unfavourable eyes? 
more particularly Sumner and Masters. Supposing this 
to be merely another of the frivolous feuds that existed 
in the place, and among ‘ our set,’ Ashburner was not 
over anxious or curious to know the cause of it. Nor, 
if he had been, did the parties seem disposed to afford 
him such information. Masters had, indeed, observed 
one day that that Storey Hunter was the greatest black- 
guard in Oldport, except The Sewer reporters ; but as 
he had already said the same^ thing of half-a-dozen men, 
his friend was not deterred thereby from making Hun- 
ter’s acquaintance — or rather, from accepting it ; the 
difficulty at Oldport being, not to make the acquaint- 
ance of any man in society. And he found the fat 
dandy, to all appearance, an innocent and good-natured 
person, rather childish for his years, and well illustrating 
Harrison’s assertion, that the men in fashionable life 
rather retrograded than developed from twenty to forty ; 
but in no apparent respect formidable, save for a more 
than American tendency to gossip. He had some story 
to the prejudice of every one, but seemed to tell all these 
stories just as an enfant terrible might, without fully un- 
derstanding them, or at all heeding the possible conse- 
quences of repeating them. 

The glory of the balls had departed with Edwards 
and the Robinsons, but the remaining fashionables kept 
up their amusement with much vigour ; and the absence 
of the others, though detracting much from the brilliancy 
of the place, was in some respects the gain of a loss. 
Bell came out in all his glory now that most of the 
young men were gone. With his graceful figure, neat 
dress, and ever-ready smile and compliment, he looked 
the very ideal of the well-drilled man of fashion. Sum- 


THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


175 


ner, though he could not have talked less if he had been 
an English heavy dragoon-officer, or an Hungarian refu- 
gee, understanding no language hut his own, was very 
useful for a quiet way he had of arranging everything 
beforehand without fuss or delay, and, moreover, had the 
peculiar merit (difficult to explain, but which we have all 
observed in some person at some period of our lives) of 
being good company without talJcing. Masters, with less 
pretence and display than he had before exhibited, 
showed an energy and indefatigableness almost equal to 
Le Koi’s ; whatever he undertook, he ‘kept the pot a- 
boiling.’ In short, the people of ‘ our set,’ who were left^ 
went on among themselves much better than before, 
because the men’s, capabilities were not limited to 
dancing, and the women had less temptation to be per- 
petually dressing. Besides, the removal of most of the 
fashionables had encouraged the other portions of the 
transient population to come more forward and exhibit 
various specimens of primitive dancing, and other traits 
worth observing. One evening there was a ‘ hop’ at the 
Bellevue. Ashburner made a point of always looking in 
at these assemblies for an hour or so, and scrutinizing 
the company with the coolness and complacency which 
an Englishman usually assumes in such places, as if all 
the people there were made merely for his amusement. 
Masters, who had literally poked the heel off one of his 
boots, and thereby temporarily disabled himself, was 
lounging about with him, making observations on men, 
women, and things generally. 

‘ You wouldn’t think that was only a girl of seven- 
teen,’ said Harry, as a languishing brunette, with large, 
liquid, black eyes, and a voluptuous figure, glided by 
them in the waltz. ‘ How soon these Southerners deve- 
lope into women ! They beat the Italians even.’ 


176 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAJST SOCIETY. 


‘ I wonder the young lady has time to grow, she 
dances so much. I have watched her two or three even- 
ings, and she has never rested a moment except when 
the music stopped. Something must suffer, it seems to 
me. Does her mind develope uniformly with her person ? 
She is a great centre of attraction, I observe ; is it only 
for her beauty and dancing?’ 

^ I suppose a beautiful young woman, with fifty or 
sixty thousand a-year, may consider mental accomplish- 
ments as superfiuous. She knows, perhaps, as much as a 
Russian woman of five-and-twenty. How much that is, 
you, who have been on the Continent, know.’ 

^ Ah, an heiress ; acres of cotton-fields ; thousands of 
negroes, and so on.’ 

‘ Exactly. I put the income down at half of what 
popular report makes it ; these Southern fortunes are 
so uncertain ; the white part of the property (that is to 
say, the cotton) varies with the seasons ; and the black 
part takes to itself legs and runs off occasionally. But, 
at any rate, there is quite enough to make her a great 
prize, and an object of admiration and attention to all 
the little men — not to the old hands, like Bell and 
Sumner ; they are built up in their own conceit, and 
wouldn’t marry Sam Weller’s ^female marchioness,’ 
unless she made love to them first, like one of Knowles’s 
heroines. But the juveniles are crazy about her. Robin- 
son went off more ostentatiously love-sick than any man 
of his size I ever saw ; and Sedley is always chanting 
her praises — the only man, woman, or child, he was ever 
known to speak well of. I don’t think any of them will 
catch her. Edwards might dance into her heart, per- 
haps, if he were a little bigger ; but as it is, she will, 
probably, make happy and rich some one in her own 
part of the world. She says the young men there suit 


THE DOa OF ALCIBIADES. 


177 


her better, because they are ‘ more gentlemanly’ than we 
Notherners.’ 

^ I have heard many strangers say the same thing,’ 
said Ashburner, prudently refraining from expressing 
any opinion of his own, for he knew Masters’ anti- 
Southern feelings. 

• If education ha-s anything to do with being a gen- 
tleman, then, whether you take education in the highest 
sense, as the best discipline and expansion of the mind 
by classical and scientific study; or in the utilitarian 
sense, as the acquisition of useful knowledge, and a prac- 
tical acquaintance with men and things ; or in the fine- 
lady sense, as the mastery of airs, and graces, and draw- 
ing room accomplishments; or in the moralist’s sense, as 
the curbing of our mischievous propensities, and the 
energizing of our good ones — in every case, we are more 
of gentlemen than the Southerners. If the mere posses- 
sion of wealth, and progress in the grosser and more 
material arts of civilization, have anything to do with it, 
then, too, we are more of gentlemen. Their claims rest 
on two grounds : first, they live on the unpaid labour of 
others, while we all work, more or less, for ourselves, 
holding idleness as disgraceful as they do labour; secondly, 
they are all the time fighting duels.’ 

‘ Are there no duels ever fought in this part of the 
country V 

‘ Scarcely any since Burr shot Hamilton. Alexander 
Hamilton was one of our greatest men, and his death ex- 
cited a feeling throughout the Northern States which 
put down the practice almost entirely ; and I certainly 
think it a step forward in real civilization.’ 

^ Do you mean to say that it is with you as with us, 
where, if a man becomes so involved in a quarrel that he 
is challenged, it is against him and almost ruin to him 


178 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

whether he fights or does not fight ? Or is public opinion 
decidedly in favour of the man who does not fight, and 
against the man who does? For instance, suppose you 
were challenged yourself?’ 

‘ A man can’t say beforehand what he would do in an 
emergency of the kind; but my impression is that I 
should not fight, and that the opinion of society would 
bear me out.’ 

‘ But suppose a man insulted your wife, or sister ?’ 

‘ It is next door to impossible that an American 
gentleman should do such a thing ; but if he did, I should 
consider that he had reduced himself to the level of a 
snob, and should treat him as I would any snob in the 
streets, — ^knock him down, if I was able ; and if I wasn’t, 
take the law of him : and if a man had wronged me irre- 
parably, I fancy I should do as these uncivilized South- 
erners themselves do in such a case, — shoot him down in 
the street wherever I could catch him. What sense or 
justice is there in a duel ? It is as if a man stole your 
coat, and instead of having him put into prison, you drew 
lots with him whether you or he should go.’ 

‘ But suppose a man was spreading false reports about 
you ; suppose he said you were no gentleman, or that 
you had cheated somebody?’ 

‘ Bah !’ replied Masters, dexterously evading the 
most important part of the question, ‘ if I were to fight 
all the people that spread false reports about me, I 
should have my hands full. There is a man in this 
room that slandered me as grossly as he could four years 
ago, and was very near breaking off my marriage. That 
fat man there with all the jewellery — Storey Hunter,’ 

‘ Indeed !’ exclaimed the other, really surprised, for 
he had just seen Mrs. Masters conversing with the 
ponderous exquisite apparently on most amicable terms. 


THE DOG OF ALCIB.IADES. 


179 


^ Yes, and it was entirely gratuitous. I never gave 
the. scamp any provocation. By Jupiter !’ Masters 
turned very white and then very red, ^ if he isn’t danc- 
ing with my wife ! His impudence is too much, and 

I believe one of our women would put up with anything 
from a man here if he can only dance well. They have 
no self-respect.’ 

Masters appeared to have very little himself at that 
moment, and not to care much what he safd or did. 
He trembled all over with rage, and his friend expected 
to see an immediate outbreak ; but, as if recollecting 
himself, he suddenly stammered out something about 
the necessity of changing his boots, and limped ofi 
accordingly for that purpose. He was not gone more 
than five minutes, but in that time had contrived not 
only to supply his pedal deficiency, but also to take a 
drink by way of calming himself ; and after the drink 
he took a turn with Miss Friskin, and whirled her 
about the room till he knocked over two or three inno- 
cent bystanders, all which tended very much to compose 
his feelings. Ashburner had a presentiment that some- 
thing would happen, and stayed longer that night than 
his wont ; indeed till the end of the ball, which, as there 
was now no German cotillon, lasted only till one in the 
morning. 

But the universal panacea of the polka had its molli- 
fying effect on Masters, and everything might have 
passed off quietly but for an unlucky accident. Some 
of the young Southerners had ordered up sundry bottles 
of champagne, and were drinking in the same corner. 
Hunter who was much given to toadying Southerners 
(another reason for Masters’ dislike of him), mingled 
among them and partook of the inspiring beverage. In 
vino veritas is true as gospel, if you understand it 


180 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


rightly as meaning that wine developes a man’s real 
nature. Hunter, being by nature gossipy and menda- 
cious, waxed more and more so with every glass of 
Heidseck he took down. Ashburner chancing to pass 
near the group, had his attention arrested by hearing 
Masters’ name. He stopped and listened ; Hunter was 
going on with a prolix and somewhat confused story of 
some horse that Masters had sold to somebody, in which 
transaction Sumner was somehow mixed up, and the 
horse hadn’t turned out well, and the purchaser wasn’t 
satisfied, and so on. 

‘If Masters hear this !’ thought Ashburner. 

And Masters did hear it very promptly, for Sedley 
was within ear*shot, and, delighted at having a piece of 
mischief to communicate, he tracked Harry out at the 
further extremity of the room, to inform him of the lib- 
erties Storey Hunter was taking with his name. Where- 
upon the slandered one, with all his wrath reawakened, 
traversed the apartment in time to hear the emphatic 
peroration that, ‘ bad as Sumner was, Masters was a 
thousand times worse.’ 

‘ I can’t stand this,’ exclaimed he. ‘ Where’s Frank 
Sumner?’ Sumner was not visible. ‘Ashburner, will 
you stand by me if there’s a row V 

By this time the ball was breaking up, and Mas- 
ters, on going back to look for his party, found that Mrs. 
M., like a true watering-place belle, had gone off without 
waiting for him. This was exactly what he wanted. — 
Keeping his eye on Hunter, he followed him out to the 
head of the staircase, where he had just been bidding 
good night to some ladies. No one was in sight but 
Ashburner, who happened to be standing just outside 
the door-way. The fat man nodded to^ Harry as if they 
had been the best friends in the world. 


N 



Benson and Ashturner at tlae Ball 






THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


181 


^ Curse his impudence !’ exclaimed Masters, now 
fairly boiling over. ‘ Holla, you Hunter ! did you know 
you were an infernal scoundrel ? Because you are.’ 

^ What for V quoth the individual in question, half 
sobered and half disconcerted by this unceremonious 
address. 

^ And a contemptible blackguard,’ continued M sters 
following up his verbal attack. 

' You’re another,’ retorted Hunter. 

Ashburner wondered if the two men were going to 
stand slanging each other all night. 

‘ I ought to have pulled your nose three years ago, 
and now take that !’ and Masters, who had been working 
at his glove ever since the parley began, twitched it off 
and slapped Hunter in the face with it. 

When an Irishman sees two people fighting, or going 
to fight, his natural impulse is to urge them on. A 
Scotchman or an American tries to part them. A 
Frenchman runs after the armed force. An Englishman 
does nothing but look quietly on, unless one side meets 
with foul play. Thus it was with Ashburner in the pres- 
ent instance. He took Masters’ request ^ to stand by 
him in case of a row,’ au pied de la lettre. He stood by 
him, and that was all. 

As soon as Hunter felt the glove in his face he struck 
out at Masters, who stopped the blow very neatly, and 
seemed about to return it with a left-hander ; then sud- 
denly changing his style of attack, he rushed within the 
other’s guard, and catching him by thejthroat with both 
hands, did his best to strangle him. Hunter, unable to 
call for help to loosen the throttling grasp of his as- 
sailant. threw himself bodily upon him. As he was 
about twice Masters’ size and weight, the experiment suc- 
ceeded. Harry was thrown off his feet and precipitated 


182 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 


against the banisters, which being of slight material, gave 
waj like so much paper, and both men tumbled over in- 
to the landing-place below amid a great scattering of 
splinters. Lighting on their feet, they began to pommel 
each other without doing more damage than a couple of 
children, for they were at such close quarters, and so 
blinded by rage, that they hit wild ; but Masters had 
caught his man by the throat again and was just getting 
him into chancery, when Bell, Sedley, and some of the 
Southerners, attracted by the noise, ran down stairs, call- 
ing on the ‘ gentlemen’ to ‘ behave as such,’ and words 
proving ineffectual, endeavouring to pull them apart; 
which was no easy matter, for Masters hung on like grim 
death, and when his hand was removed from Hunter’s 
collar, caught him again by the nose, nor would he give 
up till Mr. Simpson, who was one of the stoutest and 
most active men in the place, caught him from behind 
and fairly carried him off to the hall below. Then lib 
seemed to come to himself all at once, and recollected 
that he had invited the remains of ^ our set’ to supper 
that night. And accordingly , after taking a rapid sur- 
vey of himself in a glass, and finding that his face bore 
no marks of the conflict, and that his dress was not more 
disordered than a man’s usually is when he has been 
polking all the evening, he went off to meet his company, 
and a very merry time they had of it. Ashburner was 
snrprised to find that the spectators of the fray were 
able to ignore it so completely. If they had been old 
men and old soldiers, they could not have acted with 
more discretion, and it was impossible to suspect from 
their conversation or manner that anything unpleasant 
had occurred. ‘ These people do know how to hold their 
tongues sometimes,’ thought he. 

Next morning, while strolling about before breakfast 


THE DOG OF ALCIBIADES. 


188 


(he was the earliest riser of the young men in the place, 
as he did not dance or gamble), he heard firing in the 
pistol-gallery. He thought of his conversation with 
Masters and the occurrences of last night, and then re- 
collected that he was out of practice himself, and that 
there would be no harm in trying a few shots. So he 
strode over to the gallery, and there, to his astonishment, 
found on one side of the door the keeper, on the other 
Frank Sumner (who had given a most devoted proof of 
friendship by getting up two hours earlier in the morn- 
ing than he had ever been known to before) ; and be- 
tween them Masters, blazing away at the figure, and 
swearing at himself for not making better shots 

‘ Take time by the forelock,’ you see, said he, as he 
recognized Ashburner. ^ Nunquam non paratus. The 
fellow will send me a challenge this morning, I supposd, 
and I want to be ready for him. I shall practise till the 
very moment I go out.’ 

‘ But do you know,’ said the Englishman, ^ if after 
that you should kill your man, we in our country should 
call it something very like murder V 

‘ That may be,’ answered Harry, as he let fly again, 
this time ringing the bell ; ^ but we‘ only call it practice.’ 


184 


CHAPTER VIIL 


LIFE AT A WATERING-PLACE. — THE 
LION IN THE TOILS. 

HAT followed the events related in our last num- 



T V ber gave Ashburner a lesson against making up his 
mind too hastily on any points of character, national or 
individual. A fortnight after his arrival at Oldport he 
would have said that the Americans were the most 
communicative people he had ever fallen in with, and 
particularly, that the men of ^ our set’ were utterly in- 
capable of keeping secret any act or purpose of their 
lives, anything that had happened, or was going to happen. 
Now he was surprised at the discretion shown by the 
men cognizant of the late row (and they comprised all 
the fashionables left in the place, and some of the out- 
siders, like Simpson ) ; their dexterity and skilful man- 
agement, first, to prevent the affair from coming to a 
fight, and then, if that were impossible, to keep it from 
publicity until the parties were safe pver the border into 
Canada, where they might ‘ shoot each other like gen- 
tlemen,’ as a young gentleman from Alabama expressed 
it. Sedley himself, whose officiousness had precipitated 
the quarrel, did all in his power to prevent any further 
mischief, and was as sedulous for the promotion of 
silencio and misterio^ as if he had been leader of a chorus 
of Venetian Senators. The reporters, who, in their 
eagerness to collect every bit of gossip and scandal, would 


THE LION IN THE TOILS. 


185 


have given the ears which an outraged community had 
permitted them to retain for a knowledge of the fracas 
and its probable consequences, never had the least inkling 
of it. Indeed, so quietly was the whole managed, that 
Ashburner never made out the cause of the old feud, nor 
was able to form any opinion on the probability of its 
final issue. On the former point he could only come to 
the conclusion, from what he heard, that Hunter had 
been mythologizing, as his wont was, something to Mas- 
ters’ discredit several years before, and had been trying 
to make mischief between him and some of his friends or 
relations ; but what the exact offence was, whether Sum- 
ner was involved in the quarrel from the first, and if so, 
to what extent ; and whether the legend about the horse 
was a part of, or only an addition to the original griev- 
ance ; — on- these particulars he remained in the dark. 
As to the latter, he knew that Hunter had not challeng- 
ed Masters, and that he had left the place, but whether 
to look up a friend or not, no one seemed to know, or if 
they did, no one cared to tell. At any rate, he did not 
return for a week and more, during which time Ashbur- 
ner had full opportunity of studying the behaviour and 
feelings of a man with a duel in prospect. 

Those who defend and advocate the practice of duel- 
ling, if asked to explain the motives leading a gentleman 
to fight, would generally answer somewhat to this effect : 
— in the fir^t place, personal courage, which induces a 
man to despise danger and death, in comparison with 
any question affecting his own honour, or that of those 
connected with him ; secondly, a respect for the opinion 
of the society in which he moves, which opinion, to a cer- 
tain extent, supplies and fixes the definition of honour. 
Hence it would follow that, — given a man who is neither 
physically brave, nor bound by any particular respect for 


186 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


the opinion of his daily associates and the world he moves 
in, such a man would not be likely to give or accept a 
challenge. The case under Ashburner’s observation af- 
forded a palpable contradiction to this conclusion. 

Henry Masters was not personally valorous ; what 
courage he possessed was rather of a moral than a physi- 
cal kind. Where he appeared to be daring and heedless, 
it proved on examination to be the result of previous 
knowledge and practice, which gave him confidence and 
armed him with impunity. Thus he would drive his 
trotters at anything, and shave through ‘ tight places’ on 
rough and crowded roads, his whiffle-trees tipping and 
his hubs grazing the surrounding wheels in a way that 
at first made Ashburner shudder in spite of himself ; 
but it was because^ his experience in wagon-driving ena- 
bled him to measure distances within half-an-inch, and 
to catch an available opening immediately. On the other 
hand, in their pedestrian trips across country in West- 
chester, he was very chary of jumping fences or ditches 
till he had ascertained by careful practice his exact ca- 
pacity for that sort of exercise. He would ride his black 
horse. Daredevil, who was the terror of all the servants* 
and women in his neighbourhood, because he had made 
himself perfectly acquainted with all the animal’s stock 
of tricks, and was fully prepared for them as they came; 
but he never went the first trip in a new steamboat or 
railroad line. He ate and drank many things consider- 
ed unhealthy, because he understood exactly from expe- 
rience what and how much he could take without injury ; 
but you could not have bribed him to sit fifteen minutes 
in wet boots. In short, he was a man who took excel- 
lent care of himself, camiy as a Scot or a New-England- 
er, loving the good things of life, and not disposed to 
hazard them on slight grounds. Then as to the appro- 


THE LION IN THE TOILS. 


187 


bation or disapprobation of those about him, he was al- 
most entirely fpareless of it. On any point beyond the 
cut of a coat, the decoration of a room, the concoction of 
a dish, or the merits of a horse, there were not ten peo- 
ple in his own set whose opinion he heeded. To the re- 
marks of foreigners he was a little more sensitive, but 
even these he was more apt to retort upon by a tu quoqm 
than to be influenced by. Add to all this, that he had 
the convenient excuse of being a communicant at church, 
which in America implies something like a formal pro- 
fession of religion. Yet at this time he was not only 
willing, but most eager to fight. The secret lay in his 
state of recklessness. A moment of passion had over- 
turned all his instincts, principles, and common-sense, 
and inspired him with the feverish desire to pay off his 
old dc;bts to Storey Hunt.r, at whatever cost. And as 
neither the possession of extraordinary personal cour- 
age, nor .a high sense of coventional honour, nor a respect 
for the opinion of society, necessarily induces a feeling of 
recklessness, so neither does the abience of these quali- 
ties prevent the presence of this feeling, exactly the most 
favourable one to make a man engage in a duel. Mor 
alists have called such a condition one of temporary 
madness, and it has probably as good grounds to be class- 
ed with insanity as many of the pleas known to medical 
and criminal jurisprudence. 

Be this as it may, Ashburner had a good opportunity 
of observing — and the example, it is to be hoped, was 
of service to him — the demoralization induced upon a 
man by the mere impending possibility of a duel. Mas- 
ters seemed careless what he did. He danced frantically, 
and drank so much at all hours, that the Englishman, 
though pretty strong-headed himself, wondered how he 
coidd keep sober. He was openly seen reading The 


188 SKETCHES OF AMERICAK SOCIETY. 


Blackguard? s Oivn, a weekly of The Sewer species. He 
made up trotting-matclies with every ml#i in the place 
who owned a "fast crab/ and with some acquaintances at 
a distance, by correspondence. He kept studiously out 
of the way of his wife and child, lest their influence 
might shake his determination. All this time he prac- 
tised pistol-shooting most religiously. Neither of the 
belligerents had ever given a public proof of skill in this 
line. . Hunter’s ability was not known, and Masters^ 
shooting so uncertain and variable when any one looked: 
on, that those in the secret suspected him of playing 
dark and disguising his hand. All which added to the 
interest of the affair. 

But when eleven days had passed without signs or 
tidings of Hunter, and it seemed pretty clear that he 
had gone away ^ for good,’ Masters started up one morn- 
ing, and went off himself to New-York, at the same time 
with Harrison, whose brief and not very joyous holidays 
had come to a conclusion. He accompanied the banker, 
in accordance with the true American principle, always 
to have a lion for your companion when you can ; and as 
Harrison was still a man of note in Wall-street, however 
small might be his influence in his own household, Mas- 
ters liked to be seen with him, and to talk anything — 
even stocks — to him, though he had no particular inter- 
est in the market at that time. But whether an Ameri- 
can is in business himself or not, the subject of business 
is generally an interesting one to him, and he is always 
ready to gossip about dollars. The unexampled materi- 
al development of the United States is only maintained 
by a condition of society which requires every man to 
take a share in assisting that development, and the most 
frivolous and apparently idle men are found sharp enough 
in pecuniary matters. This trait of national character 


THE LION IN THE TOILS. 


189 


lies on the surface, and foreigners have not been slow to 
notice it, and to draw from it unfavourable conclusions. 
The supplementary and counterbalancing features of 
character to be observed in these very people,^ — that it is 
rather the fun of making the money than the money it- 
self which they care for ; that when it is made, they 
spend it freely, and part with it more readily than they 
earned it ; that they are more liberal both in their pub- 
lic and private charities (considering the amount of their 
wealth, and of the claims upon it) than any nation in 
the world, — all these traits strangers have been less ready 
to dwell upon and do justice to. 

Masters was gone, and Ashburner stayed. Why ? — 
He had been at Oldport nearly a month ; the place was 
not particularly beautiful, and the routine of the amuse- 
ments not at all to his taste. Why did he stay ? He had 
his secret, too. 

It is a melancholy but indisputable fact, that even in 
the most religious and moral country in the world, the 
bulwark of evangelical faith, and the home of the domes- 
tic virtues (meaning, of course, England), a great many 
mothers who have daughters to marry, are not so anxious 
about the real welfare, temporal and eternal, of their 
youg ladies, as solicitous that they should acquire riches, 
titles, and other vanities of the world, — nay, that many 
of the daughters themselves act as if their everlasting 
happiness depended on their securing in matrimony a 
proper combination of the aforesaid vanities, and put 
out of account altogether the greatest prize a woman can 
gain — the possession of a true and loving heart, joined 
to a wise head. Now, Ashburner being a very good parti 
at home, and having run the gauntlet of one or two Lou- 
don seasons, had become very skittish of mammas, and 
still more so of daughters. He regarded the unmarried 
9 * 


190 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


female as a most dangerous and altogether to-be-avoided 
animalj and when you offered to introduce him to a 
young lady, looked about as grateful as if you had in- 
vited him to go up in a balloon. He expected to be 
rather more persecuted, if anything, in America than he 
had been at home ; and when he met Miss Yanderlyn at 
E-avenswood, if his first thought had found articulate 
expression, it would probably have been something like 
this : — ^ Now that young woman is going to set her cap 
at m^i what a bore it will be !’ 

Never was a man more mistaken in his anticipations. 
He encountered many pretty girls, not at all timid, ready 
enough to talk, and fiirty enough among their own set, 
but not one of them threw herself at him, and least of 
all did Miss Yanderlyn. Not that the young lady was 
the victim of a romantic attachment, for she was perfect- 
ly fancy free and heart whole ; nor, on the other hand, 
that she was at all insensible to the advantages of mat- 
rimony, for she kept a very fair look-out in that direc- 
tion, and had, if not absolutely down on her books, at 
least engraved on the recording tablets of her mind, four 
distinct young gentlemen, combining the proper requi- 
sites, any of whom would suit her pretty well, and one of 
whom — she didn’t much care which — she was pretty 
well resolved to marry within the next two years. And 
as she was stylish and rather handsome, clever enough, 
and tolerably provided with the root of all evil, besides 
having that fortunate good humour and accommodating 
disposition which go so far towards making a woman a 
belle and a favourite, there was a sufficient probability 
that before the expiration of that time, one of the four 
would offer himself But all her calculations were found- 
ed on shrewd common sense ; her imagination took no 
flights, and her aspirations only extended to the ordinary 


THE LION IN THE TOILS. 


191 


and possible. That this young and strange Englishman, 
travelling as a part of education, the son of a great man, 
and probably betrothed by proxy to some great man’s 
daughter, or going into parliament to be a great man 
himself, and remain a bachelor for the best part of his 
life, — that between him and herself there should be any- 
thing in common, any point of union which could make 
even a flirtation feasible, never entered into her head. 
She would as soon have expected the King of Dahomey 
to send an embassy with ostrich feathers in their caps, 
and rings in their noses, formally to ask her hand in 
marriage. Nay, even if the incredible event had come 
to pass, and the young stranger had taken the initiative? 
even then she would not by any means have jumped at 
the bait. For in the first place, she was fully imbued 
with the idea that the Yanderlyns were quite as good as 
any other people in the world, and that (the ordinary 
conceit of an American belle) to whatever man she might 
give her hand, all the honour would come from her side, 
and all the gain be his; therefore she would not' have 
cared to come into a family who might suspect her of 
having inveigled their heir, and look down upon her as 
something beneath them, because she came from a coun- 
try where there were no noblemen. Secondly, there is 
a very general feeling among the best classes in America, 
that no European worth anything at home comes to 
America to get married. The idea is evidently an im- 
perfect generalization, and liable to exceptions; but the 
prevalence of it shows more modesty in the ‘ Upper Ten’s ’ 
appreciation of themselves than they usually have credit 
for. As soon, therefore, as a foreigner begins to pay at- 
tention to a young lady in good society, it primd facie 
ground of suspicion against him. The reader will see 
from all this how little chance, there was of Ashburner’s 


192 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


running any danger from tlie unmarried women about 
him. With the married ones the case was somewhat dif- 
ferent. It may be remembered that at his first introduc- 
tion to Mrs. Henry Masters, the startling contrast she 
exhibited to the adulation he had been accustomed to 
receive, totally put him down ; and that afterwards she 
softened off the rough edge of her satire, and became 
very piquante and pleasing to him. And as she greatly 
amused him, so he began to suspect that she was rather 
proud of having such a lion in her train, as no doubt 
she was, notwithstanding the somewhat rough and cub- 
like stage of his existence. So he began to hang about 
her and follow her around in his green, awkward way, 
and look large notes of admiration at her ; and she was 
greatly diverted, and not at all displeased at his atten- 
tions. I don’t know how far it might have gone ; Ash- 
burner was a very correct and moral young man as the 
world goes, but rather because he had generally business 
enough on hand to keep him out of mischief than from 
any high religious . principle ; and J am afraid that, in 
spite of the claims of propriety, and honour, and friend- 
ship, and the avenging Zeus of hospitality, and every 
other restraining motive, he would have fallen very much 
in love with Mrs. Masters but for one thing. 

He was hopelessly in love with Mrs. Harrison. How 
or when it began he couldn’t tell; but he found himself 
under the influence imperceptibly, as a man feels himself 
intoxicated. Sometimes he fancied that there had been 
a kind of love at first sight — that with the first glimpse 
he had of her, something in his heart told him that that 
woman was destined to exert a mastery over him ; yet 
his feelings must have undergone a change and growth, 
for he would not now have listened to any one speaking 
of her as Masters had done at that time. Why it was, he 


THE LION IN THE TOILS. 


198 


could still less divine. His was certainly no blind admi- 
ration which sees no fault in its idol ; he saw her faults 
plainly enough, and yet could not help himself. He 
often asked himself how it happened that if he was doom- 
ed to endure an illicit and unfortunate passion, it was 
not for Mrs. Masters rather than Mrs. Harrison ; for the 
former- was at least as clever, certainly handsomer, palpa- 
bly younger, indubitably more lady-likOj and altogether 
a higher style of woman. Yet with this just apprecia- 
tion of them, there was no comparison as to his feelings 
towards the two. The one amused and delighted him 
when present ; the other, in her absence, was ever ris- 
ing up before his mind’s eye, and drawing him after 
her ; and when they met, his heart beat quicker, and he 
was more than usually awkward and confused. Perhaps 
there had been, in the very origin of his entanglement 
and passion, some guiding impulse of honour, some 
sense that Masters had been his friend and entertainer, 
and that to Harrison he was under no personal obliga- 
tions. For there are many shades of honour and dishon- 
our in dishonourable thoughts, and a little principle 
goes a great way with some people, like the wind com- 
memorated by Joe Miller’s Irishman, of which there was 
not much, hut what there was^ was very high. 

Be this as it may, he was loving to perdition — or 
thought so, at least ; and it is hard to discriminate in a 
very young man’s case between the conceit and the real- 
ity of love. His whole heart and mind were taken up 
with one great, all-pervading idea of Mrs. Harrison, and 
he was equally unable to smother and to express his 
flame. He was dying to make her a present of some- 
thing, but he could send nothing without a fear of ex- 
citing suspicion, except bouquets, and of these floral 
luxuries, though they were only to be procured at Old- 


194 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


port with much trouble and expense, she had always a 
supply from other quarters. He did not like to be one 
of a number in his offerings ; he wanted to pay her some 
peculiar tribute. He would have liked to fight some man 
for her, to pick a quarrel with some one who had said 
something against her. Proud and sensitive to ridicule 
as he was, he would have laid himself down in her way, 
and let her walk over him, could he have persuaded him- 
self that she would be gratified by such a proof of de- 
votion, and that it would help his cause with her. 

Had Masters been in Oldport now, there might have 
been trouble, inasmuch as he was not particular about 
what he said, and not too well disposed towards Mrs. 
Harrison, while Ashburner was just in the state of mind 
to have fought with his own father on that theme. But 
Masters was away, and his absence at this time was not 
a source of regret to Ashburner, who felt a little afraid 
of him, and with some reason, for our friend Harry was 
as observant as if he had a fly’s allowance of eyes, and 
had a knack of finding out things without looking for 
them, and of knowing things without asking about them ; 
and he would assuredly have noticed that Ashburner be- 
gan to be less closely attached to his party, and to follow 
in the train of Mrs. Harrison. As for Clara Masters^ 
she never troubled herself about the Englishman’s fall- 
ing off in his attentions to her ; if anything, she was 
rather glad of it ; her capricious disposition made her 
tire of a friend in a short time ; she could not endure 
any one’s uninterrupted company — not even her hus- 
band’s, who therefore wisely took care to absent himself 
from her several times every year. 

Moreover, though Ashburner was seen in attendance 
on the lioness, it was not constantly or in a pointed man- 
ner. He was still fighting with himself, and, like a man 


THE LION IN THE TOILS. 


195 


run away with, who has power to guide his horse though 
not to stop him, he was so far able to manage his passion 
as to keep it from an open display. So absolutely no 
one suspected what was the , matter with him, or that 
there was anything the matter with him, except the lady 
herself Catch a woman not finding out when a man is 
in love with her ! Sometimes she may delude herself 
with imagining a passion where none exists, but she never 
makes the converse mistake of failing to perceive it 
where it does. And how did the gay Mrs. Harrison, 
knowing and perceiving herself to be thus loved, make 
use of her knowledge ? What alteration did it produce 
in her conduct and bearing towards her admirer ? Ab- 
solutely none at all. Precisely as she had treated him 
at their first introduction did she continue to treat him 
— as if he were one of her everyday acquaintances, and 
nothing more. And it is precisely this line of action 
that utterly breaks down a man’s defences, and makes 
him more hopelessly than ever the slave of his fair con- 
queror. If a woman declares open hostilities against 
him, runs him down behind his back, snubs him to his 
face, shuns his society, — this at least shows that she con- 
siders his attachment of some consequence — cons^uence 
enough to take notice of, though the notice be unfavour- 
able. His self-respect may come to the rescue, or his 
piqued vanity may save him by converting love into en- 
mity. But a perseverance in never noticing his love^ 
and feigning to be ignorant of its existence, completely 
establishes her supremacy over him. 

A Frenchman, who has conceived designs against a 
married lady, only seeks to throw dust in the husband’s 
eyes, and then if he cannot succeed in his final object, at 
least to establish sufiicient intimacy to give him a plausi- 
ble pretext for saying that he has succeeded ; for in such 


196 SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


a matter he is not scrupulous about lying a little— or a 
great deal. An American, bad enough for a similar in- 
tention (which usually pre-supposes a considerable amount 
of Farisianization)^ acts much like a Frenchman — if 
anything, rather worse. An Englishman is. not usually 
moved to the desire of an intrigue by vanity, but driven 
into it by sheer passion, and his first impulse is to run 
bodily ofi* with the object of his misplaced affection ; to 
take her and himself out of the country, as if he could 
thereby travel out of his moral responsibilities. Reader, 
did you ever notice, or having noticed, did you ever pon- 
der upon the geographical distribution of morals and 
propriety which is so marked and almost peculiar a fea- 
ture of the Anglo-Saxon mind? In certain outward 
looks and habits, the English may be unchangeable and 
unmistakeable all over the globe ; but their ethical code 
is certainly not the same at home and abroad. It is 
pretty much so with an ’American, too, before he has be- 
come irreparably Parisianized. When he puts on his 
travelling habits he takes off his puritan habits, and 
makes light of doing things abroad which he would be 
the first to anathematize at home. Observe, we are not 
speaking of the deeply religious, nor yet of the openly 
profiigate class in either country, but of the general run 
of respectable men who travel ; they regard a great part 
of their morality and their manners as intended solely 
for home consumption, while a Frenchman or a German 
if his home standard is not so high, lives better up to it 
abroad. And yet many Englishmen, and some Ameri- 
cans, wonder why their countrymen are so unpopular as 
foreign travellers ! 

Ashburner, then, wanted to run away with Mrs. Harri- 
son. How he could have supported her never entered 
into his thoughts, nor did he consider what the effect 


THE LIOH IN THE TOILS. 


197 


would be on his own prospects. He did not reflect, either, 
how miserably selfish it was in him, after all, to expect 
that this woman would give up her fortune and position, 
her children, her unbounded legitimate domination over 
her husband, for his boyish passion, and how infinitesi- 
mally small the probability that she would do so crazy a 
thing. Nor did Harrison ever arise before his mind as a 
present obstacle or future danger ; and this was less fran- 
tic than most of his overlookings. The broker was a. 
strong and courageous man, and probably had been once 
very much in love with his wife ; but at that time, so far 
from putting a straw in the way of any man who wanted 
to relieve him of her, he would probably have been will- 
ing to pay his expenses into the bargain. 

But how to declare his passion — that was the 
question. He saw that the initiatory steps, and very 
decided ones, must be taken on his part ; and it was not 
easy to find the lady alone ten minutes together. 
People lived at Oldport as if they were in the open air, 
and the volunteer, police of ordinary gossip made private 
interviews between well-known people a matter of ex- 
treme difficulty. A Frenchman similarly placed would 
have brought the affair to a crisis much sooner : he 
would have found a thousand ways of disclosing his feel- 
ings, and at the same time dexterously leaving himself 
a loop-hole of escape. Very clever at these things are 
the Gauls ; they will make an avowal in a full ball-room, 
under cover of the music, if there is no other chance to 
be had. But tact in love affairs is not the characteristic 
of the Englishman, especially at Ashburner’s age. He 
had none of this mischievous dexterity ; perhaps it is 
just as well when a man has not, both for himself and 
for society. He thought of writing, and actually began 
many letters, or notes, or billet-doux, or whatever they 


198 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

might be called ; but they always seemed so absurd (as 
they truly were), that he invariably tore them up when 
half-finished. He thought of serving up his fiame in 
verse (for about this time the unhappy youth wrote 
many verses, which on his return to sanity he very wise- 
ly made away with) ; but his emotion lay too deep for 
verse, and his performances seemed even to himself too 
ridiculous for him to dream of presenting them. Still he 
must make a beginning somehow ; he could not ask her 
to run away with him apropos of nothing. 

One of his great anxieties, you may be sure, was to 
find out if any other man stood in his way, and who 
that man might be. His first impulses were to be indis- 
criminately jealous of every man he saw talking or walk- 
ing with her ; but on studying out alone the result of 
his observations, he could not discover that she affected 
any one man more than another. For this was one of 
her happy arts, that she made herself attractive to all 
without showing a marked preference to any one. Bell, 
who among his other accomplishments, had a knack of 
quoting the standard poets, compared her to Pope’s Be- 
linda — saying, that her lively looks disclosed a sprightly 
mind, and that she extended smiles to all, and favours 
to none. So that Ashburner’s jealousy could find no 
fixed object to light on. At one time he had been 
terribly afraid of Le Boi, chiefiy from having heard the 
lady praise him for his accomplishments and agreeable 
manners. But once he heard Sedley say, that Mrs. 
Harrison had been worrying Le Koi half out of his wits, 
and quite out of his temper. 

‘ How so ?’ 

^ Oh, she was praising you, and saying how much 
she liked the English character, and how true and 
honest your countrymen were — so much more to be 


THE LION IN THE TOILS. 


199 


depended upon than the French — and more manly, too ; 
and altogether she worked him up into such a rage 
against ces instilaires, that he went off ready to swear.’ 

And then Ashburner suspected what he afterwards 
became certain of — that this was only one of the pleas- 
ant little ways the woman had of amusing herself. — 
Whenever she found two men who were enemies, or ri- 
vals, or antagonists in any way, she would praise each to 
the other, on purpose to aggravate them : and very suc- 
cessful she was in her purpose ; for she had the greatest 
appearance of sincerity, and whatever she said seemed 
to come right out of her heart. But if any lingering 
fears of Le Boi still haunted the Englishman’s mind, 
they were dispelled by his departure along with the main 
body of the exclusives. Though always proud to be 
seen in the company of a conspicuous character like Mrs. 
Harrison, the Yicomte more particularly cultivated the 
fashionables proper, and gladly embraced the opportuni- 
ty of following in the train of the Bobinsons. 

Perhaps, after all, Ashburner would have preferred 
being able to concentrate his suspicions upon one defi- 
nite person, to feeling a vague distrust of somebody he 
knew not whom, especially as the presence of a rival 
might have brought the affair to a crisis sooner. To a 
crisis it was approaching, nevertheless, for his passion 
now began to tell on him. He looked pale, and grew 
nervous and weak — lay awake at nights, which he had 
never done before, except when going in for the Tripos 
at Cambridge — and was positively off his feet, which he 
had never been at any previous period of his life. He 
thought of tearing himself away from the place — the 
wisest course, doubtless ; but, just as he had made up 
his mind to go by the next stage, Mrs. Harrison, as if 
she divined what he was about, would upset all his plans 


200 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


by a few words, or a look or smile — some little expres- 
sion which meant nothing, and could never be used 
against her ; but which, by a man in his state, might be 
interpreted to mean a great deal. 

One morning the crisis came — not that there was any 
particular reason for it then more than at any other 
time, only he could hold out no longer. It was a beau- 
tiful day, and they had been strolling in one of the few 
endurable walks the place afforded — a winding alley near 
the hotel, but shrouded in trees, and it was just at the 
time when most of the inhabitants were at ten-pins, so 
that they were tolerably alone. Now, if ever, was the 
time ; but the more he tried to introduce the subject, 
the less possible he found it to make a beginning, and 
all the while he could not avoid a dim suspicion that 
Mrs. Harrison knew perfectly what he was trying to 
drive at, and took a mischievous pleasure in saying no- 
thing to help him along. So they talked about his trav- 
els and hers, and great people in England and France, 
and all sorts of people then at Oldport, and the weather 
even — all manner of ordinary topics ; and then they 
walked some time without saying anything, and then 
they went back to the hotel. There he felt as if his last 
chance was slipping away from him, and in a sudden fit 
of desperate courage he followed her up to her parlour 
without waiting for an invitation. Hardly was the door 
closed — ^he would have given the world to have locked 
it — when he begged her ^ to listen to him a few minutes 
on a subject of the greatest importance.’ The lady open- 
ed her large round eyes a little wider ; it was the only sign 
she gave of anything approaching to surprise. Then 
the young man unbosomed himself just as he stood there 
— not upon his knees ; people used to do that — in books^ 
at least — but nobody does now. He told her how long 


THE LION IN THE TOILS. 


201 


he had been in love with her — how he thought of her all 
day and all night, and how wretched he was — how he had 
tried to subdue his passion, knowing it was very wrong, 
and so forth ; but really he couldn’t help it, and — and — 
there he stuck fast ; for all the time he had been making 
this incoherent avowal, like one in a dream, hardly know- 
ing what he was about, but conscious only of taking a 
decisive step, and doing a very serious thing in a very 
wild way — all this time, nevertheless, he had most close- 
ly watched Mrs. Harrison, to anticipate his sentence in 
some look or gesture of hers. And he saw that there 
did not move a line in her face, or a muscle in her whole 
figure — not a fibre of her dress even stirred. If she 
had been a great block of white marble, she could not 
have shown less feeling, as she stood up there right op- 
posite him. If he had asked her to choose a waistcoat- 
pattern for him, she could not have heard him more qui- 
etly. As soon as he had fairly paused, so that she could 
speak without immediate interruption, she took up the 
reply. It was better that he should go no further, as 
she had already understood quite enough. She was very 
sorry to give him pain — it was always unpleasant to give 
pain to any one. She was also very sorry that he had 
so deceived himself and so misapprehended her charac- 
ter, or misunderstood her conversation. He was very 
young yet, and had sense enough to get over this very 
soon. Of course, she would never hear any repetition 
of such language from him ; and, on her part, she would 
never mention what had occurred to any one — especial- 
ly not to Mr. Harrison (it was the first time he had ever 
heard her allude to the existence of that gentleman) ; 
and then she wound up with a look which said as plain- 
ly as the words could have done, ^ Now, you may go.’ 

Ashburner moved off in a more than usual state of 


202 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAN SOCIETY. 

confusion. As he approached the door it opened sud- 
denly, and he nearly walked over one of the little 
Bleeckers, a flourishing specimen of Young New- York, 
with about 'three yards of green satin round his throat, 
and both his hands full of French novels, which he had 
been commissioned to bring from the circulating library. 
Ashburner felt like choking him, and it was only by a 
great effort that he contrived to pass him with a barely 
civil species of nod. But as he went out, he could not 
refrain from casting one glance back at Mrs. Harrison. 
She had taken off her bonnet (which in America is de- 
nominated a hat), and was tranquilly arranging her hair 
at the glass. 

Somehow or other he found his way down stairs, and 
rushed off into the country on a tearing walk, enraged 
and disgusted with everything, and with himself most 
of all. When a man has made up his mind to commit 
a sin, and then has been disappointed in the fruition of 
it — when he has sold the birthright of his integrity, 
without getting the miserable mess of pottage for it 
which he expected, his feelings are not the most enviable. 
Ashburner was angry enough to marry the first heiress 
he met with. First, he half resolved to get up a des- 
perate flirtation with Mrs. Masters ; but the success of 
his first attempt was not encouraging to the prosecution 
of a second. To kill himself was not in his line ; but he 
felt very like killing some one else. He still feared he 
might have been made a screen for some other man. — 
But if the other man existed, he could only be reached 
by fighting successively all the single men of ^ our set,’ 
and a fair sprinkling of those in the second set. Then 
he thought he must at least leave the place ; but his 
pride still revolted at the idea of running away before a 
woman. Finally, after walking about ten miles, and 


THE LIOH IN THE TOILS. 


208 


losing his dinner, he sobered down gradually, and 
thought what a fool he had been ; and the issue of his 
cogitations was a very wise double conclusion. He 
formed a higher opinion of the virtue of American wo- 
men, and he never attempted any experiments on an- 
other. 


204 


CHAPTER IX. 

A TKOT ON THE ISLAND. 

A SHBURNER did leave Oldport after all, before 
the eod of the season, being persuaded to accom- 
pany a countryman and schoolmate of his (whom he 
had last seen, two years before, in Connaught, and who 
now happened to pass a day or two at Oldport, on his 
way Canada-ward from the south) in .a trip to the 
White Mountains of New Hampshire ; though his 
American acquaintances, especially the ladies, tried hard 
to dissuade him from starting before the grand fancy 
ball, with which the season terminated, assuring him 
that most of ‘ our set’ would come back if only for that 
one night, and that it would be a very splendid affair, 
and so forth. Nature had more charms for him than 
art, and he went away to New Hampshire, making an 
appointment with Masters by letter to meet him at 
Ravenswood early in September. • But a traveller cannot 
make sure of his movements a fortnight ahead. On his 
return from the White Mountains, Ashburner had his 
pocket picked at a railway station (these little incidents 
of highly civilized life are beginning to happen now and 
then in America ; the inhabitants repudiate any native 
agency therein, and attribute them all to the swell-mob 
emigrants from England), and, in consequence, was 
obliged to retrace his steps as far as New- York to visit 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


205 


his banker. Almost the first person he ran agajnst in 
the street was Henry Masters. 

^ This is an unexpected pleasure !’ exclaimed the 
New-Yorker. ‘ I never thought to see you here ; and 
you, I presume, didn’t expect to meet me.’ Ashburner 
explained his mishap. ‘Well, I meant to go straight 
over to Ravenswood after the ball ; but we had to come 
home — all of us this time — on business. Lots of French 
furniture arrived for our town-house. Mrs. M. couldn’t 
rest till she had seen it all herself, and had it properly 
arranged. So here have I been five days, fussing, and 
paying, and swearing (legally, you understand, not pro- 
fanely) at the custom-house, and then ‘ hazing’ — what 
you call slanging — upholsterers ; and now that the work 
is all over, I mean to take a little play, and am just 
going over to see Lady Suffolk and Trustee trot on 
the island. Come along. It’s a beautiful drive of 
eight miles, and I have a top-wagon. It is to meet 
me at the Park in a quarter of an hour.’ Ashburner 
assented. ‘ I want to buy some cigars ; you have no 
objection to accompany me a moment V 

So they turned down one of the cross-streets running 
out of the lower part of Broadway (which, it may be 
here mentioned, for the benefit of English readers and 
writers, is not called the Broadway), and entered a 
‘ store’ five or six stories high, with two or three differ- 
ent firms on each fioor ; and Masters led the way up 
something between a ladder and a staircase into a small 
office, with ‘ Bleecker Brothers’ dimly visible on a tin 
plate over the door. Three-fourths of the apartment 
were filled up with all manner of inviting samples, 
every wine, liquor and liqueur under the sun, in every 
variety of bottle or vial, thick with the dust of years, 
or open for immediate tasting ; and through the dingy 


10 


206 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIEl^Y. 

panes of a half-glass door a multitudinous array of 
bottles might be seen loading the numerous shelves of 
a large store-room beyond. In a sma I clearing at one 
corner, where a small desk was kept in countenance by 
a small table, and three or four old chairs, with a back- 
ground of shelves groaning under the choicest brands 
of the fragrant weed, sat the presiding deities of the 
place — the two little Bleeckers, — the dark brother of 
thirty-five, and the light brother of twenty, like two 
sketches of the same man in chalk and charcoal ; both 
elegantly dressed — white trousers, patent leather shoes, 
exuberant cravats, massive chains, and all the usual 
paraphernalia of Young New- York — altogether looking 
as much in place as a couple of butterflies in an ant-hill. 

^ Good morning, gentlemen,’ said Masters. ^ Here’s 
our friend Ashburner ;’ and he pushed forward the 
Englishman. The brothers rose, laid down the morn- 
ing journals over which they had been lounging, and 
welcomed the stranger to their place of business. 
‘ What’s the news this morning?’ 

^ Nothing at all, I believe,’ replied the elder. ‘ South 
Carolina has been threatening to dissolve the Union 
again — and that’s no news. Stay here, you can see for 
yourself and he handed one mammoth sheet to Mas- 
ters, and ^e other to Ashburner. The first thing that 
struck the Englishman’s eye in his, was an article which, 
from its being written in lines of unequal length, he 
judged to be verse, so, being a bold man, he went at it, 
and read as follows : — 

‘FEEGEAVE’S WEATH. 

The Archbishop sits in his easy chair, 

Best mahogany, padded with care, 

After as nice and cosy a dinner 
As ever comforted saint or sinner. 


A TBOT ON THE ISLAND. 


.20 


Why should he look cross, 

And his head often toss ? 

Was there anything wrong in the Tartars sauce? 

After so good a meal why should he be grave ? 

What is the matter with Archbishop Feegrave ? 

Ah, well may Johnny look sour and frown. 

And bring his fist on the table down 
With such a fling 
That the glasses ring ! 

For this very evening has brought him news 
Enough to give him a fit of the blues. 

He had laid out a burying-ground of his own — 

That is of his' Church’s — and there alone 
Had ordered his fiock to take their 'repose 
When their earthly woes were brought to a close ; 

And a paper mendacious. 

Of humbug voracious, 

(Perhaps you have seen it or heard the fame of it ; 

An Anti-Saxon, Papist journal : 

Lie-teller was of old the name of it,* 

Now ’tis known as the Slave's Diurnal f) 

A paper of which he had the discredit or 
Doubtful renown of being the editor. 

Took up the song all the day long. 

Bidding the duckies to come and be buried, 

But still there were few to Williamsburgh ferried ; 

For the biggest bugs of the Papist set 
Were not convinced by their primate yet. 

Elstob the Swede, and De Eonai the Frank, 

Who had a good balance, ’twas said, at the bank. 

And Hamel the Swiss, and Meisters the Teuton, 

(As honest a horseman as ever drew boot on) 

And all the belligerent noisy array 
Of the ‘ first flower of earth and first jim of the say,’ 
Phelan the jockey, and Mullins the farrier. 

Borrow the banker, and Kelly the carrier, , 

And Lynch the Tombs lawyer, a pleader well known 
To get in a trial at least all his own. 

And Barney Brallaghan, 

And his crony O’Callaghan, 

(Wdio often in rows had with him to the rally gone. 

As Virgil says, proximus ardet Ocalsgon)^ 


208 SKETCHES OP AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

P Antithesis, I suppose, like olli for said the 
Englishman to himself] 


All, all, to a man, determined to try at 
Practising ‘private judgment ’ a little, 

Besolved not to care for Johnny F.’s fiat. 

Nor heed of his mandate a single tittle. 

But they and their families buried would be 
tinder the shady Greermood tree* 

This obstacle placed in flie Archbishop’s path 
Awakened his innate and national wrath, 

(For Coelum of old said a poet most wary, 

JSfon anvmum mutant qui currunt trans mare)^ 

In Latin suspicious, and English as bad, 

He let off the very worst oaths to be had : 

‘ Fer polcerum sanctum I per illud et hoc / 

Now haven’t I, sure, got an illigint fiock ! 

And all their remonstrance such impudent gabble is, 
Effic^t me meliorem Diabolus / 

Scelestissimi scelestorum 1 
Heretecissimi hereticorum ! 

Bring me my inkstand and see how I’ll floor ’em !’ 

Ashhurner having gone thus far into the doggerel 
found it utterly impossible to go any further, partly, be- 
cause he did not in the least understand what it was 
about, partly for other obvious reasons, so he looked up 
for explanation, and had not to look long or far. 

‘ Ahj I see you’ve hit upon something of mine,’ said 
Masters, whose glance had already taken in Ashhurner 
and the paper and what he was reading, and apparently 
at least half of what he was thinking. ^ Of course you 
are not up to the allusions. Feegrave is the Popish 
archbishop here : there is a big cemetery at Grreenwood^ 
Long Island, — one of our lions, the New- York F^re 'la 
Chaise — I must take you there some day — where all 
people of all religions are buried ; and it turned out a 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


209 


good investment for the company that owned it, and Fee- 
grave thought that it would pay to have a cemetery of 
his own ; accordingly he set one up, and ordered all the 
faithful to be buried there at six dollars a head and up- 
w^ards, 


Under pain of citation, 
Excommunication, 

And something still awfuller ending in ation. 


But some of the sheep were not so sheepish, and grew 
contumacious, and hinted that whereas in several Euro- 
pean countries Catholics and Protestants were buried 
side by side, and still more, whereas the archbishop him- 
self had consecrated graves in Grreenwood, therefore, &c. 
— in short they wouldn’t be done. Then Feegrave wax- 
ed wrath, and made a vast splutter, and called them liars, 
and other hard names, just as your Irish patriots do.’ 

^ Exactly,’ said Ashburner, who had had some experi- 
ence of such gentry. ‘ Your thorough-going Papist’s rule 
is, to tell as many lies as he can himself, and call all his 
opponents liars as often as possible. It’s a figure of 
speech that answers very well with a certain class of 
hearers and readers. And who has got the best of this 
dispute?’ 

‘ No one as yet,’ said" the elder Bleecker, ^but you 
may bet your life on the archbishop in the end. He is a 
clever old scamp, and generally manages to carry his 
point. He don’t get put down often.’ 

‘ Except when he meets Thunderbolt in a rail-car,* 
said Masters. ‘Did you ever hear that story? John 
of New- York ,’ — cross John^ as my brother Carl used to 
call him — was in the rame rail-car with Thunderbolt, 
coming from Philadelphia to New-York ; and the Con- 


210 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


gressman didn’t know who he was, hut probably suspect- 
ed he was a priest. 

‘ You can generally tell a priest by his looks. Even 
an intelligent horse will do that. Once I was riding 
with one of our bishops near Boston, and his nag shied 
suddenly at a man in a broad-brimmed hat. Says the 
right reverend (we don’t call ’em ^ my lord ’ in this coun- 
try, you know, Ashburner), ‘ I shouldn’t wonder if that 
was a Boniish priest and we looked again, and it was. 
There was a Protestant horse for you ! What a trea- 
sure he would have been to an Orangeman ! 

^ So Thunderbolt began to abuse the Roman Catholics 
generally, and the priests particularly, and * that brawl- 
ing bigot, Johnny Feegrave,’ most particularly. Fee- 
grave, who is a wary man, polite, and self-possessed, sat 
through it all without saying a word ; till another gen- 
tleman in the car asked Thunderbolt if he knew who 
that was opposite him. He didn’t know. ^ It’s Bishop 
Feegrave,’ says the other, in a half whisper. ^ Are you 
Bishop Feegrave V exclaims the native, quite off his 
guard. ^ They call me so,’ answered the other, with a 
quiet smile, expecting to enjoy the humiliating confusion 
of his denouncer ; and the other passengers shared in 
the expectation, and were prepared for a titter at Thun- 
derbolt’s expense. But instead of attempting any apol- 
ogy, or showing any further embarrassment, he pulled out 
an eye-glass, and after looking at the Jesuit through it 
for some time, thus announced the result of his inspec- 
tion — ‘Oh, you are, are you? Well, you’re just the 
kind of looking loafer I should have expected Johnny 
Feegrave to be.’ 

‘ Is that story true^ Masters V asked the elder brother. 

‘ I read it in a newspaper,’ said Harry, looking as 
innocent and sanctimonious as a Jesuit caught in a — re- 
servation. 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


211 


The two Bleeckers roared. It is a standing Ameri- 
can joke to say of the biggest possible hoax or canard 
‘ I read it in a newspaper, and it must be true.’ 

^ I don’t believe Feegrave was much disconcerted 
either,’ said the head of the firm ; ‘ he doesn’t lose his 
balance easily. I never heard of his being put out but 
once, and that was when Governor Bonkers met him. 
He was a jolly old Dutchman, Mr. Ashburner, who used 
to go about electioneering, and asking every man he 
came across — how he was, and how his wife and family 
were. When Bishop Feegrave was introduced to him, 
they thought the governor would know enough to vary 
the usual question a little ; but he didn’t, and asked 
after the Bomish bishop’s wife and family with all possb 
ble innocence ; and Feegrave, for once in his life, was 
nonplussed what to answer.’ 

‘ Ah, but you haven’t told the end of that,’ put in 
Masters. ^ When the governor’s friends tried to explain 
to him the mistake he had made, and the category the 
Bomish ecclesiastics were in, he said, ‘ 0 yas, I see, I 
should have asked after his lady and not after his wife.’ 
As you say, Feegrave generally has his wits about him, 
no doubt. He played our custom-house a trick that they 
will not forget in a hurry. Soon after General Harrison 
tind the Whigs came in, and Danielson was made collect- 
or of our port, there arrived a great lot of what the 
French call articles de religion, robes, crucifixes, and 
various ornaments for Feegrave’s cathedral. Now these 
were all French goods, and subject to duty, and a notifi- 
eation to that effect was sent to the proper quarter. 
Down comes Feegrave in a great rage. ^ Mr. Danielson, 
Mr. Danielson, we never had to do this before. Your 
predecessor, Mr. Hoyt, always let our articles of religion 
in free of duty.’ ‘ Can’t help what my predecessor,, Mr. 


212 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

Hoyt, used to do,’ says Danielson ; ‘ the law is so and so, 
as I understand it, and these articles are subject to duty. 
If you like, you may pay the duties under protest, and 
bring a suit against Uncle Sam* to recover the money.’ 
(You see, the Loco Focos had always favoured the Kom- 
ish priests to get the Irish vote. The Whigs didn’t in 
those days — it was before our side had been corrupted 
by Seward, and such miserable demagogues ; and Daniel- 
son wasn’t sorry to see his political opponent the Bishop 
in a tight place.) After Feegrave had blustered awhile, 
and found it did no good, he tried the other tack, and 
began to expostulate. ^ Is there no way at all, Mr. 
Danielson,’ says he, ‘ by which these articles may be 
passed free of duty V ^ None at all,’ says the other, 
‘unless’ — and he paused, hardly knowing whether it 
would do to hint at such a thing, even in jest — ‘ unless, 
bishop, you are willing to swear that these are tools of 
your trade .’ ‘ And sure they are that !’ quoth Feegrave? 
snapping him up, ‘ bring on your book ;’ and he had the 
goods sworn through in less than no time, before Daniel- 
son could recover himself’ 

‘ Not a bad hit,’ said the Englishman. ‘ Tools of his 
trade ! 80 they were, sure enough ; but one would not 

have expected him to own it so coolly.’ 

‘ Unless there was something to be got by it,’ con- 
tinued Masters. ^ Now this is true — every word of it, 
though it has been in the newspapers ; and the way I 
came to find it out was this. One day I saw in the adver- 
tising columns of The Blunder and Bluster^ a circular 
from the Secretary of the Treasury^ stating that ‘ cruci- 
fixes, whether of silver or copper, images, silk and velvet 
vestments, and theological books, did not come under 


* The United States government (U. S.) 


A TKOT ON THE ISLAND. 


218 


the head of tools of trade^ but were subject to duty.’ It 
was a funny-looking notice, and there was evidently 
something behind it ; so I took the trouble to inquire, 
and found that the cause of the order va this clever 
stroke of Feegrave. Going to the trot to-day 

The younger brother was going, and it was near the 
time when he expected his wagon. Dicky wasn’t. He 
had given up trots ten years ago — thought them 
low. 

^ Give me a few cigars before we go,’ said Masters. 

* What have you here that’s first-rate % Carbajal, Firm- 
ezas, Antiguedad. H — m. I’ll take a dozen Firmezas, 
and you may send me the rest of the box.’ 

‘ Don’t you want some champagne — veritable Cordon 
Bleu — only fourteen dollars a dozen, and a discount if 
you take six cases ?’ 

‘ And if you wish to secure some tall Lafitte, we 
bought some odd bottles at old Yan Zandt’s sale the 
other day. You remember drinking that wine at Wil- 
son’s last summer ?’ 

Masters remembered it perfectly, and would take 
the Lafitte by all means. ^ Put that down, Mr. Snipes ;’ 
and for the first time Ashburner was aware of the clerk 
— a very young gentleman, who appeared from behind 
the desk, and booked the order at it. ‘ And how about 
the champagne 

Ty penserai. Time to go. Vamos? And Masters 
carried off his friend. 

^You were a little taken aback, weren’t you?’ he 
asked, as they went in quest of the wagon. ‘ When you 
saw these men figuring in the German cotillon, and help- 
ing to lead the fashion at Oldport, you hardly expected 
to encounter them in such a place. Well, now, let me 
tell you something that will astonish you yet more. So 
10 * 


214 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

far from its being against these brothers in society that 
they are, what you would call in plain English, a supe- 
rior order of grocers, it is positively in their favour ; that 
is to say, they are more respected, better received, and 
stand a better chance of marrying well, than if they did 
nothing. They might do nothing if they chose. They 
had enough to live very well on en gar^on. The Bleeck- 
ers are one of our best known and most thoroughly re- 
spectable families. The sons had no taste for books ; 
they have a very good taste for wine and cigars, and have 
undertaken what they are best fit for. It’s better than 
being nominal lawyers.’ 

‘ Pecuniarily, no doubt : but is it as good for the whole 
development of the individual? Was it you, or your 
friend Harrison, who instanced Richard Bleecker as a 
man who had made no progress in anything manly for 
fifteen years V 

^ That is the fault of his natural disposition, which 
would not be bettered by his making believe to be a 
professional man, or being an avowedly idle one. He 
is frivolous and ornamental for a part of his time — 
during the rest he has his business to occupy him. If 
he had not that, he would spend all his time in elegant 
idleness, and know no more than he does now. His 
pursuits bring him in money, which will be a comfort 
to his wife and family when he marries — though, to be 
sure, he is rather ancient for that ; a single man at 
thirty-five is with us a confirmed old bachelor. But 
his brother is in a fair way to form a nice establish- 
ment.’ 

^ Now tell me another thing. Suppose the Bleeckers 
had chosen to become jewellers or merchant tailors — 
they might be good judges of either business, and 
make money by it — how would that effect their posi- 
tion V 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


215 


‘ Unfavourably, I confess,’ replied Masters. ^ But we 
Gothamites have so thorough a respect for, and appre- 
ciation of, good wine and cigars, that the importation of 
them is considered particularly laudable.’ 

‘ Do you know, I was once confounded near going 
into this very business myself? I had a chance of being 
one of three partners who are making thirty thousand a 
year clear now among them, and their office is the nicest 
lounging place down town, where you hear all that is 
going on and a great deal more sometimes ; and they 
hung out the best dry champagne in the country ; 
Bleecker’s isn’t a circumstance to it. I missed a great 
chance then, but the fact was, it happened about five 
years ago. just about the time of my marriage, and I 
wanted to take Clara — or she me, rather — over to 
Paris.’ 

‘ Well,’ said Ashburner, ‘ I don’t mean to flatter, but 
it really seems to me that there is something not exactly 
very elevated in a state of society which leads a man of 
your education and accomplishments to regret that he 
wasn’t a wine-merchant.’ 

Masters coloured up, hesitated a moment, and then, 
re-assuming his nonchalant air, returned to the charge. 

‘ My dear fellow, you can’t put yourself in my po- 
sition, nor can I have your feelings on the subject — in- 
deed I should be a great fool if I could. Your ances- 
tors for such a time, that the memory of man runneth 
not to the contrary, have never done anything more ap- 
proaching to business than making a book for the Derby, 
or overhauling their stewards’ accounts. But who 
among us can go back to four generations of non-pro- 
ducers in his family ? Take any of our set — myself as 
the nearest example — my grandfather, the governor’s 
father that is, was one of the real ‘ lords of the land. 


216 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


a regular hard-fisted, straitforward — dirty, if you like 
— Dutch farmer, who sold his cabbages, and took them 
to market himself, for all that I remember. I do re- 
member once, when a very small juvenile, helping his 
Irish labourer in the kitchen-garden for a whole summer 
morning, and the old fellow giving me a five-cent piece 
after our mid-day dinner, which I then thought some- 
thing Californian. My mother’s father used to sell pea- 
nuts — ground-nuts you call them, I believe, — I don’t 
mean that he carried them round in a tin measure to the 
b’hoys at the Bowery Theatre, but he used to import 
them from the Mediterranean, or Africa, or somewhere. 
And finally he made a pretty tall fortune by it : but 
once he was near failing outright, because some of his 
cargoes came in late when he had a good many notes 
out. Think of the grandeur and destiny of a family 
depending on the arrival of five ship-loads of peanuts !’ 

‘ Fortune in a hut-shell,’ said Ashburner. 

‘ Why the deuce should we try to be above our origin, 
especially when every one knows it, or pretend to have 
any scruples about money-making? And that reminds 
me of how I served out the Bobinsons once. Mrs. B. 
had been trying to poke fun at us, behind our backs of 
course, on the subject of cabbages and pea-nuts. Well, 
not long after she gave a big ball, and we, being pun- 
kins,* were of course among the invited. So I went to a 
clever working jeweller that .1 knew, and gave him an 
order to be filled up in all haste from a design of my 
own, ear-rings imitating pea-nuts in dead gold, and shirt 
buttons in green enamel, to be the counterfeit present- 
ment of two cabbages ; and Clara and I wore our orna- 
ments at the ball (where they were much admired for 


* A fslang expression of young New-York for people of value 
and consequence. 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


217 


their originality), and made a point of bringing them 
under Mrs. Robinson’s notice.’ 

Any further discussion was stopped by their arriving 
at that dreary triangular square (more hibernico loqui) 
called the Park, where Masters’ wagon awaited him — 
not the red'wheeled one ; this vehicle was of a uniform 
dark green, furnished with a top (a desirable appen- 
dage when the thermometer stands 85® in the shade) and 
lined throughout with drab. The ponies were carefully 
enveloped to the very tips of their ears in white fly- 
nets. As the groom saw Masters approaching, he put 
himself and the top through a series of queer evolu- 
tions, which ended in the latter being lowered — a very 
necessary operation, to allow any one to get in with 
comfort ; and after Masters and Ashburner were in, he 
put it up again with some ado, and then went his way, 
the concern only holding two. Then Masters turned 
the wagon round by backing and locking, and making 
it undergo a series of contortions as if he wanted to 
double it up into itself, and run over himself with his 
own wheels, and drove to the Pulton Perry ; for to ar- 
rive at the Centreville Course on Long Island — famil- 
iarly designated as the island — you first pass through 
Brooklyn, that trans-Hudsonian suburb of New-York, 
which thirty years ago was a miserable little village, 
and now contains upwards of ninety thousand inhabitants. 

‘And how did the ball go off?’ asked Ashburner, as 
they rolled up the main avenue of Brooklyn, at the 
slowest possible trot, according to the well-known rule, 
always to take a fast horse easy over pavement. On 
board the ferry-boat there had not been much conversa- 
tion, the horses being so worried by the flies as to re- 
quire all Masters’ attention. 

‘ Oh, it was rather a fiasco^ but we had some fun. 
Some predicted that the fashionables would come back. 


218 SKETCHES OF AMERICAISr SOCIETY. 


but they didn’t, except a few of the young men ; and all 
of our set that were there threatened to go out of cos- 
tume ; but then we recollected that would have been a 
very Irish way of serving out Mr. Grrabster, as by the 
established regulation in such cases, we should have had 
to pay double for tickets ; so most of us took sailors’ or 
firemen’s dresses — the cheapest and commonest disguises 
we could get ; and the ladies made some trivial addition 
to their ordinary ball-dresses — a wreath or a few extra 
flowers — and called themselves brides, or Floras, and so 
on. And some of the crack Bostonians blasphemed the 
expense, and went in plain clothes. So we had the con- 
solation of making fun of all the outsiders, and their at- 
tempts at costume — such supernumeraries as most of 
them were ! And none of the comme-il-faut people 
would serve on the committee, so Grabster had nobody 
to get up the room in proper style, and it looked like a 
‘ Bipton’ ball room ; and The Sewer reporters were there 
in all their glory. The Irishman had borrowed or sto- 
len a uniform somewhere, and the Frenchman was appro- 
priately arrayed in red, as a devil, and he went about 
taking notes of all the people’s dresses, especially the la- 
dies’; and as our ladies were not in costume, he thought 
he must have something to do with them, and so pre- 
sented some of them with bouquets, which they wouldn’t 
take, of course ; and the young men trod on his toes and 
elbowed him off till he swore he would put them all in 
his paper. And we danced away, notwithstanding The 
Sewer and all its works. Tom Edwards was accoutred 
as Mose the fireman, and Sumner had an old French de- 
hardeur dress of his, just the thing for the occasion, only 
his shoes were too big ; and after tripping up himself 
and his partner four times, he kicked them off clean 
into the orchestra, and fearfully aggravated the fiddlers ; 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


219 


but he took it as coolly as he does everything — pu? on 
a pair of ordinary boots, aild was polking away again in 
five minutes. And we kept it up till two in the morn- 
ing, polka chiefiy, with a sprinkling of deux-temps^ and 
then had a very bad supper, and some very bad wine, of 
Mr. Grrabster’s providing — genuine New Jersey cham- 
pagne. How we looked after the dancing ! Sumner’s 
debardeur shirt might have been wrung out, it was so 
wet; and Mrs. Harrison — she had got herself up as Un- 
dine — was dripping enough for a half-a-dozen water- 
nymphs ; and Miss Friskin had a shiny green silk dress ; 
.^we had been polking together, and my white waistcoat, 
and pants, and cravat, were all stained green, as if I had 
been playing with a gigantic butterfiy. And then after 
supper, when there was no one but our German cotillon 
set left, and just as we had put the chairs in order, the 
musicians struck work, and would not play any more 
(you know what an impracticable, conceited, obstinate 
brute a third-rate German musician is), saying that they 
were only bound to play just so long ; so I gave them a 
good slanging in their own .tongue (I know German 
enough to blow up a man, and a fine strong language it 
is for the purpose) ; and Bell swore it was too bad, and 
Edwards tried to make them a conciliatory speech — only 
he was too tipsy to talk straight ; and Sumner ofiered 
them fifty dollars to go on playing. Thereupon, up and 
spake the big bass-viol, — ‘We ton’t want your money ; 
we want to be dreated like chentlemens and then Frank 
lost his temper. ‘ I’ll treat you,’ says he ; and with that 
he delivered right and left into the bass-viol, and knock- 
ed him through his own instrument ; and then some one 
knocked Sumner over the head with a trombone ; — then 
we all set to, and gave the musicians their change (we 
owed them a little before, for it wasn’t the first time they 


220 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


had been saucy to us), and we thrashed them essential- 
ly, and comminuted a few of their instruments. And 
half-a-dozen of the Irish waiters came out, with their 
sleeves rolled up, to fight for the honour of the house, 
and protect Mr. Grabster’s property — meaning the 
musicians, I suppose, ; — and Haralson of Alabama, one 
of your regular six-feet-two-in-his-stockings South West- 
ern men, who had come North to learn the polka, and 
become civilized — Haralson pulled out a Bowie, and 
swore he would whittle them up if they didn’t make 
themselves scarce. By Jove ! you should have seen the 
Paddies scud ! And I caught The Sewer reporter (the 
Irish one) in the melee^ and let him have a kick that 
landed him in the middle of the floor, telling him he 
might put that into his next letter, and afterwards go to 
a place worse even than The Sewer office. Then, after all 
the enemy were fairly routed, we adjourned to my par- 
lour. I had some good champagne bf my own, and a 
pdt^ or two, and some Firmezas, and we held a jolly rev- 
el till four o’clock, and then the ladies retired, and we 
quiet married men did the same, and the ffioys went to 
fight the tiger, and Edwards lost 1400 dollars, and some 
of them took to running foot-races for a bet on the post- 
road. Haralson outran all the rest — and his senses too 
— and was found next evening about five miles up the 
road with no coat or hat, and one stocking off and the 
other stocking on, like my son John in the nursery 
rhyme, and his watch and purse gone. And The Sewer 
and Inexpressible said that it was the most brilliant ball 
that had occurred within the memory of the oldest in- 
habitant. And that’s a pretty fair synopsis of the whole 
proceeding.’ 

By this time they were off the pavement, — a change 
very sensible and desirable to man and horse, for an 


A TKOT OK THE ISLAND. 


221 


American pavement is something beyond imagination or 
description, and must be experienced to be understood. 
The ponies, without waiting for the word, went off on 
their long steady stroke at three-quarters speed, and 
though the day was warm and the road heavy, step- 
ped over the first three miles in twelve minutes, 
as Masters took care to show Ashburner by his 
watch. They challenged wagon after wagon, but no one 
seemed inclined to race at this stage of the proceedings, 
and they glided quietly by every thing. Only once was 
heard the sound of competing feet, when a black pacer 
swept up, with two tall wheels behind him, and a man 
mysteriously balanced between them. ^ After the sulky 
is manners,’ said Harry, slackening his speed, and giv- 
ing the pacer a wide berth ; and the man on the wheels 
whizzed by like a mammoth insect, and was soon lost to 
view amid a cloud of dust. 

And now they arrived at a tavern where the owners 
of ^ fast crabs’ were wont to repose, to water their horses, 
and brandy-and-water themselves. The former opera- 
tion is performed very sparingly, the supply of liquid 
afforded to the animals consisting merely of a spongeful 
passed through their mouths ; the latter is usually con- 
ducted on more liberal principles. But as our friends 
felt no immediate desire for liquor. Masters amused 
himself while the horses rested by putting down his 
top, for the sky had slightly clouded over, — a favour- 
able circumstance, he remarked, for the trot. Just as 
he was starting his ponies, with a chirrup, a tandem 
developed itself from under the shed, and its driver 
greeted him with a friendly nod. 

‘ Good afternoon, Mr. Losing,’ quoth Harry, raising 
his whip-hand in answer to the salute ; then, sotto voce 
to Ashburner, ^ a Long-Island fancy man : lots of money, 
and no end of fast horses.’ 


222 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


Mr. Losing had a thin hatchety face, and a very 
yellow complexion, with hair and beard to match. He 
wore a yellow straw-hat, and a yellowish-grey summer 
paletot, with yellowish-brown linen trousers. His light 
gig (of the kind technically called a double-sulky) was 
painted a dingy yellow ochre ; the horses were duns, 
the fly-nets drab, and what little harness there was, 
retained the original law-calf colour of its leather ; in 
short, the whole concern had a general pervading air of 
dun, which but for the known wealth of its owner might 
have been suggestive of unpleasant Joe-Millerisms. The 
only exception was his companion, a gay horse-dealer 
and jockey, who acted as amateur groom on this occasion. 
Mr. Van Eyck had sufficient diversity of colour in his 
dress to relieve the monotony of a whole landscape, — blue 
coat and gilt buttons, lilac waistcoat and ditto, red cravat 
and red-striped check shirt, white hat and trousers. His 
apparel might have been a second-hand suit of Bird 
Simpson’s. As the gig came out close at the wheels of 
the wagon, the two whips interchanged glances, as much 
as to say, ‘ Here’s at you !’ and ‘ Come on !’ and Losing 
tightened his reins ; then, as his leader ranged up along- 
side Masters’ horses, the latter drew up his lines also, 
and the teams went off together. 

A good team race is more exciting to both the look- 
ers-on and the performers than any contest of single 
horses ; there is twice as much noise, twice as much 
skill in driving, and apparently greater speed, though in 
reality less. Neither had started at the top of their 
gait, but they kept gradually and proportionably crowd- 
ing the pace, till they were going about seventeen miles 
an hour, and at that rate they kept for the first half- 
mile exactly in the same relative position as they had 
started. No one spoke a word ; the close contact of 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


223 


horses in double harness excites them so, that they 
require checking, rather than encouragement ; but Mas- 
ters with a rein in his hand was feeling every inch of 
his ponies, and watching every inch of the road. Losing 
sat like a statue, and his horses seemed to go of them- 
selves. Then as the ground began to rise. Losing drew 
gradually ahead, or rather Masters’ team came back to 
him ; still it was inch by inch in the next quarter the 
wheeler instead of the leader was alongside the other team, 
and that was all Losing had gained. Then Harry, with 
some management, got both reins into one hand, and lifted 
his nags a little with the whip. At the same time Losing 
altered his hold for the first time, and shook up his 
horses. There was a corresponding increase of speed in 
both parties, which kept them in the same respective posi- 
tion, and so they struggled on for a little while longer, 
till just before the road descended again. Masters made 
another effort to regain his lost ground. Jn so doing, 
he imprudently loosened his hold too much, and his off 
horse went up. 

The moment Firefly lost his feet Masters threw 
his whole weight upon the horses, and hauled them 
across the road, close in behind Losing’s gig, the break 
having lost him just a length, so that when they struck 
into their trot again they were at the Long-Islander’s 
wheel. Down the hill they went, faster than ever ; the 
wagon could not gain an inch on the gig, or the gig 
shake the wagon off. But Losing had manifestly the 
best of it, as all his dust went into the face of Masters 
and Ashburner, enveloping and powdering them and 
their equipage completely. Their only consolation was, 
that they were bestowing a similar favour on every 
wagon that they passed. As both teams were footing 
their very best. Masters’ only chance of getting by was 


224 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


in case one of the tandem nags should happen to break, 
a chance which he kept ready to take advantage of. 
By and by the leader went up, but Losing, who had his 
horses under perfect command, let him run a little way, 
and caught him again into his trot without losing any- 
thing. Nevertheless Masters, who had seen the break, 
made a push to go by, and with a great shout crowded 
his team up to the wheeler, but there they broke, — this 
time both horses, — and before he could bring them 
down he was two lengths in the rear. Then Losing 
drew on one side, and slackened his speed, and Masters 
also pulled up almost to a walk. 

‘ His double-sulky is lighter than my wagon.’ said 
Harry, ^ even without the toj), and the top makes fifty 
pounds difference. My machine is built a little heavier 
than the average purposely, because it rides easier, and 
shakes the horses less when there are inequalities in the 
road, so that besides being pleasanter to go in, a team 
can take it along about as fast as anything lighter for a 
short brush, but when the horses are so nearly equal, 
and you have some miles to go on a heavy road, the extra 
weight tells. However, it is no disgrace to be beaten by 
Losing, anyway, for his horses are his study and S'pe- 
dalite. Every fortnight the bolts and screws of his 
wagon are re-arranged ; his collars fit like gloves ; he 
has a particular ;kind of watering-pot made on purpose 
to water his horses’ legs. Every trifle is rigorously 
attended to. You ought to visit his, or some other 
sporting man’s stable here just to note the difference 
between that sort of thing with us and with you. 
Instead of hunters and steeple-chasers, you will see five 
or six trotters together, that can all beat 50^^.’ 

Ashburner began to have some dim recollection of 
hearing Losing’s name before. Some one, probably Sed- 


A TKOT ON THE ISLAND. 


225 


ley, had mentioned him as a person who considered wo- 
men only made to be mothers of men, and men only 
made to be trainers of horses. 

The road happened just then to be pretty clear, so 
they proceeded leisurely for some miles further, till just 
as they were quitting the turnpike for a lane which led 
to the course, the rattle of wheels and the shouts of dri- 
vers came up behind them. Masters, not disposed to 
swallow any more of other people’s dust if he could help 
it, waked up his horses at once, and they clattered along 
the lane, up hill and down,and over a railroad track, and 
passed numerous wagons, at a faster rate than ever. ‘ Do 
get out of the way !’ shouted Henry to one primitive 
gentleman, with a very tired horse, who was occupying 

exactly the centre of the road. ‘You go to The 

individual addressed was probably about to say some- 
thing very bad, when Masters, who was a moral man? 
and had the strongest wheels, cut short any possible pro- 
fanity for the moment by driving slap into him, and 
knocking him into the ditch, with the loss of a spoke or 
two. This collision hardly delayed their speed an in* 
stant ; and though some of the pursuers were evidently 
gaining, no one overhauled them for three-quarters of a 
mile, at the end of which Starlight and Firefly swept 
proudly up to the course, with a long train in their rear. 

All the vicinity of the Centreville Course — not the 
stables and sheds merely, but the lanes leading to it, the 
open ground about it, the whole adjacent country, one 
might almost say — was covered with wagons stowed to- 
gether as closely as cattle in a market. If it had been 
raining wagons and trotters the night before just over 
the place, like the showers of frogs that country edi- 
tors short of copy fill a column with, or if they had 
grown up there ready harnessed, there could not have 


226 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY, 


been a more plentiful supply. Wagons, wagons, wagons 
everywhere, of all weights, from a hundred and eighty 
pounds to four hundred, with here and there a sulky for 
variety, — horses of all styles, colours, and merits, — no 
sign of a servant or groom of any kind, but a number of 
boys, mostly blackies, about one to every ten horses, who 
earned a few shillings by looking after the animals, and 
watching the carpets, sheets, and fly-nets. The only 
other moveables, the long-handled and short-lashed whips, 
were invariably carried off by their proprietors. Whips 
and umbrellas are common property in America ; they 
are an exception to the ordinary law of meum and tuiim^ 
and strictly subject to socialist rules. Wo to the owner 
of either who lets his property go one second out of his 
sight ! 

‘Now then. Snowball !’ quoth Masters, as a young 
gentleman of colour rushed up on the full grin, stimula- 
ted to extra activity by the recollection of past and the 
prospective ‘ quarters,’ — ‘ take care of the fliers, and 
don’t let any one steal their tails ! I ought to tell you,’ 
he continued to Ashburner, leading the way towards the 
big, dilapidated,* unpainted, barn-like structure, which 
appeared to be the rear of the grand stand, ‘ you won’t 
find any gentlemen here, — that is, not above half-a-dozen 
at most.’ 

‘ I was just wondering whether we should see any 
ladies.’ 

Masters pointed over his left shoulder ; and they 
planked their dollar apiece at the entrance.- 

Ashburner’s first impression, when fairly inside, was 
that he had never seen such a collection of disreputable 


* A very critical friend "N^ants to know if the term dilapidated can, 
with strict propriety, be applied to a ivooden building. 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


227 


looking characters in broad daylight, and under the open 
sky. All up the .rough broad steps, that were used in- 
differently to sit or stand upon ; all around the oyster and 
liquor stands, that filled the recess under the steps ; all 
over the ground between the stand and the track, was a 
throng of low, shabby, dirty men, different in their ages, 
sizes, and professions ; for some were farmers, some coun- 
try tavern-keepers, some city ditto, some horse-dealers, 
some gamblers, and some loafers in general ; but alike 
in their slang and • rowdy ’ aspect. There is something 
peculiarly disagreeable in an American crowd, from the 
fact that no class has any distinctive dress. The gentle- 
man and the workingman, or the ‘ loafer,’ wear clothes of 
the same kind, only in one case they are new and clean, 
in the other, old and dirty. The ragged dress-coats, and 
crownless beavers of the Irish peasants have long been 
the admiration of travellers ; now, elevate these second- 
hand garments a stage or two in the scale of preserva- 
tion — let the coats be not ragged, but shabby, worn in 
seam, and greasy in collar ; the hats whole, but napless 
at edge, and bent in brim ; supply them with old trousers 
of the last fashion but six, and you have the general cos- 
tume of a crowd like the present. But ordinary collec- 
tions of the ol 'TToXkol are relieved by the very superior 
appearance of the women : pretty in their youth, lady- 
like and stylish even when prematurely faded, always 
dressed respectably, and frequently dressed in good taste, 
they form a startling relief and contrast to their cava- 
liers ; and not only the stranger, but the native gentle- 
man, is continually surprised at the difference, and says 
to himself, ‘ Where in the world could such nice women 
pick up those snobs !’ Here, where there is not a woman 
within a mile (unless that suspicious carriage in the cor- 
ner contains st)me gay friends of Tom Edwards’), the 


228 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


congregated male loaferism of these people, without even 
a decent-looking dog among them, is enough to make a 
man button his pockets instinctively. 

Amid this wilderness of vagabonds may be seen 
grouped together at the further corner of the stand, the 
representatives of the gentlemanly interest, numbering, 
as Masters had predicted, about half a-dozen. Losing, 
with his yellow blouse and moustache to match ; Tom 
Edwards, in a white hat and trousers, and black velvet 
coat ; Harrison, slovenly in his attire, and looking al- 
most as coarse as any of the rowdies about, till he raises 
his head, and shows his intelligent eyes ; Bleecker, who 
has just arrived ; and a few specimens of Young New- 
York like him. Masters carries his friend that way, and 
introduces him in due form to the Long Islander, who 
receives him with an elaborate bow. Ashburner offers a 
segar to Losing, who accepts the weed with a nod of ac- 
knowledgment (for he rarely opens his mouth except to 
put something into it, or to make a bet), and offers one 
of his in return, which Ashburner trying, excoriates his 
lips at the first whiff, and is obliged to throw it away af- 
ter the third, for Charlie Losing has strong tastes, will 
rather drink brandy than wine, any day, and smokes to- 
bacco that would knock an ordinary man down. 

The stranger glances his eye over the scene of ac- 
tion. A barouche and four does not differ more from a 
trotting wagon, or a blood courser from a Canadian pacer, 
than an English race-course from an American ‘ track.’ 
It is an ellipse of hard ground, like a good and smooth 
piece of road, with some variations of ascent and descent. 
The distance round is calculated at a mile, according to 
the scope of turning requisite for a horse before a sulky 
— that being the most usual form of trotting ; for a saddle 


A TEOT ON THE ISLAND. 


229 


horse that has the pole.* it comes practically to a little 
less ; for a harness horse (especially if to a wagon) with 
an outside place, to a little, or sometimes a good deal 
more. Around the enclosure, within the track (which 
looks as if it were trying hard to grow grass, and couldn’t), 
a few wagons, which obtained entrance by special favour, 
are walking about; they belong to the few men who 
have brought their grooms with them. Harrison’s pet 
trotter is there, a magnificent long- tailed bay, as big as 
a carriage-horse, equal to 2^ 50^'' on the road before that 
wagon, and worth 1500 dollars, it is said. Just inside 
the track, and opposite the main stand outside, is a little 
shanty of a judge’s stand, and marshalled in front of it, 
are half-a-dozen notorious pugilists, and similar charae 
ters, who, doubtless on the good old principle of ‘ set a 
thief,’ &c., are enrolled for the occasion as special con- 
stables, with very special and formidable white blud- 
geons to keep order, and precise suits of black cloth to 
augment their dignity. 

‘ To come off at three o’clock,’ said the hand-bills. 
If is now thirty-five minutes past three, and no signs of 
beginning. An American horse and an American wo- 
man always keep you waiting an hour at least. One of 
the judges comes forward, and raps on the front of the 
stand with a primitive bit of wood resembling a broken 
boot-jack. ^ Bring out your horses !’ People look to- 
wards the yard on the left. Here is one of them just 
led out ; they pull off his sheets, his driver climbs into 
the little seat behind him. He comes down past the 


* A horse ‘ will go to the pole ’ in such a time, means that he will 
go in double harness. A horse ‘ has the pole,’ means that he has 
drawn the place nearest the inside houndary-fence of the track, 

11 


230 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


stand at a moderate gait. ‘ Hurrah for old Twenty -miles- 
an-hour ! Trustee ! Trustee !’ 

The old chestnut is half-blood ; but you would never 
guess it from his personal appearance, so chunky, and 
thick-limbed, and sober-looking is he. His action^is un- 
even, and seemingly laborious ; you would not think him 
capable of covering one mile in three minutes, much less 
of performing twenty at the same rate. No wonder he 
hobbles a little behind, for his back sinews are swelled, 
and his legs scarred and disfigured — the traces of inju- 
ries received in his youth, when a cart ran into him and 
cut him almost to pieces. Veterinary surgeons, who de- 
ligl t in such relics, will show you pieces of sinew taken 
from him after the accident. That was six or seven 
years ago : since then he has solved a problem for the 
trotting world. 

‘ There,’ says Benson, with a little touch of triumph, 
‘ is the only horse in the world that ever trotted twenty 
miles in an hour. I saw it done myself He was driven 
nearly two miles before he started, to warm him up, and 
make him limber. When the word was given, he made a 
skip, and though his driver (not the same that he has 
now) caught him before he was fairly off his feet, he was 
more than three minutes doing the first mile, which 
looked well for the backers of time ; but as the old fel- 
low went on, he did every mile better than the preceding, 
and the last in the best time of all, winning with nearly 
half a minute to spare.’ 

‘ Has the experiment been often tried V 

^ Not more than two or three times, I believe ; and the 
horses who attempted it broke down in the eighteenth or 
nineteenth mile. N evertheless, I think that within th e last 
twelve years, we have had two or three horses besides Trus- 
tee who could have accomplished the feat ; but as such a 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


231 


horse is worth 2000 dollars, or upwards, a heavy bet would 
be required to tempt a man to risk killing or ruining his 
animal ; and our sporting men, though they bet frequent- 
ly, are not in the habit of betting largely. That is one 
reason why it has not been tried oftener ; and I am in- 
clined to think that there is another and a better motive. 
The owner of a splendid horse does not like to risk 
his life ; and it is a risk of life to attempt to trot him 
twenty miles an hour. ’ 

Pit, pat ! pit, pat ! The old mare is coming down to 
the score. A very ordinary looking animal in repose, 
the magnificence of her action converts her into a beauty 
when moving. How evenly her feet rise and fall, reg- 
ularly as a machine, though she is nearly at the top of her 
speed ! She carries her head down, and her neck stretch- 
ed out, and from the tip of her nose to the end of her 
long white tail, that streams out in the breeze made by 
her own progress, you might draw a straight line, so 
true and right forward does she travel. Perched over 
her tail, between those two tall, slender wheels, sits her 
owner, David Bryan, the only man that ever handles her, 
in something like a jockey costume, blue velvet jacket 
and cap to match, and his white hair, whiter than his hoi^se’s 
tail, streaming in the wind — a respectable and almost 
venerable looking man ; but a hard boy for all that, say 
the knowing ones. Great applause from the Long-Island 
men, who swear by ^ the Lady,’ and are always ready to 
‘stake their pile’ on her, for her owperis a Long-Islander, 
and she is a Suffolk county, Long-Island mare. Some 
eight years ago Lady Suffolk was bought out of a baker’s 
cart for 112 dollars: and since then she has won for 
‘ Dave’ upwards of 30,000 dollars. That is what the pos- 
sessor of a fast trotter most prides himself on — to have 
bought the animal for a song on the strength of his own 


232 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


eye for his points, and then developed him into a ‘ flier.’ 
When a colt is bred from a trotting stallion, put into 
training at three or four years old, and sold the first 
time for a high price, if he turns out well there is no 
particular wonder or merit in it ; if he does not, the dis- 
appointment is extreme. 

Ah, here comes Pelham at last — a clean little bay^ 
stepping roundly^ and lifting his legs well : you might call 
it a perfect action, if we had not just seen Lady Suffolk 
go by — but so wicked about the head and eyes ! Behind 
the little horse sits a big Irishman, in his shirt sleeves ; 
and they are hauling away at each other, pull Pat, pull 
Pelham, as if the man wanted to jerk the horse’s head 
off, and the horse to draw the man’s arm out. You see 
the driver is holding by little loops fastened to the reins, 
to prevent his grasp from slipping. Pelham is a young 
horse for a trotter, say seven years old, and has already 
done the fastest mile ever made in harness ; but his tem- 
per is terribly uncertain, and to-day he seems to be in 
a particularly bad humour. 

Trustee, who requires much warming up, goes all 
round the track, increasing his speed as he goes, till he 
has*reached pretty nearly his limit. Pelham also com- 
pletes the circuit, but more leisurely. The Lady trots 
about a quarter of a mile, then walks a little, and then 
brushes back. Her returning is even faster and pret- 
tier than her going. ‘ 2^ 33^^,’ says Losing, speaking for 
the first time, as she crosses the score (the line in front 
of the judge’s stand). His eye is such that, given the 
horse and the track, he can tell the pace at a glance 
within half a second. 

The gentry about are are beginning to bet on their 
respective favourites, and some upon time — trifling 
amounts generally — five, ten, or twenty dollars ; and 


A TEOT ON THE ISLAND. 


233 


there is much pulling out, and counting, and depositing 
of greasy notes. Bang ! goes the broken boot-jack again. 
This time it is not ‘ Bring out your horses !’ but, ‘ Bring 
up your horses !’ — a requisition which the drivers comply 
with by turning aioay from the stand. This is to get 
a start, a flying start being the rule, which obviously 
favours the backers of time, and is, in some respects, 
fairer to the horses, but is very apt to create confusion and 
delay, especially when three or four horses are entered. 
So it happens in the present instance; half way up the 
quarter, the horses turn, not altogether, but just as they 
happen to be ; and off they go, some slower and some 
faster, trying to fall into line as they approach the score. 
•Come back!’ It’s no go, this time; Pelham has broken 
up, and is spreading himself all over the track. Trustee, 
too, is a length or more behind the gray mare, and evi- 
dently in no hurry. They all go back, the mare last, as 
she was half way down the other quarter before the 
recall was understood. 

‘ What a beauty she is I’ says Harry. ^ And she 
has the pole, too.’ 

‘ Will you bet two to three on her against the field V 
asks Edwards, who knew very well that Trustee is the 
favourite. Masters declines. ‘ Then you will go on 
time ? Will you bet on 42^-^, or that they don’t beat 
7/ 47/^?’ (three-mile heats, you will recollect, reader). 
No, Harry won’t bet at all ; so Edwards turns to Losing. 
‘ Will you bet three to five in hundreds on the Lady V 
Losing will. They neither plank the money, nor book 
the bet, but the thing is understood. 

Pelham’s driver has begged the judges to give the 
word, even if he is two lengths behind ; he would rather 
do that than have his horse worried by false starts. So 
this time, perhaps, they will get off. Not yet I Bryan’s 


284 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


mare breaks up just before they come to the score. 
Harrison hints that he broke her on purpose, because 
Trustee was likely to have about a neck advantage 
of him in the start. ‘ Of course they never go the 
first time,’ says Masters, ‘ and very seldom start the 
second.’ 

^ I saw nine false starts once, at Harlem,’ says 
Bleecker, ‘ where there were but three** horses. Better 
luck next time.’ 

It is better luck. Pelham lays in the rear full two 
lengths, but Trustee and the mare come up nose and nose 
to the score, going at a great pace. ‘ Gro !’ At the 
word Trustee breaks. ‘ Bah ! Take him away ! Where’s 
Bridges?’ The superior skill of his former driver is 
painfully remembered by the horse’s friends. But he soon 
recovers, and catches his trot about two lengths behind 
the mare, and as much in advance of Pelham ; for the 
little bay is going very badly, seems to have no trot 
in him, and his driver dares not hurry him. In these 
respective positions the ^ complete the first quar- 
ter. 

As they approach the half mile, the distance renders 
their movements indistinct, and their speed, positive or 
relative, difficult to determine. You can only make out 
their position. Pelham continues to lose, and Trustee 
has gained a little ; but the gray mare keeps the lead 
gallantly. 

‘ I like a trot,’ says Masters, ^ because you can watch 
the horses so long. In a race they go by like a fiash, 
once and a'gain, and it’s all over.’ 

In the next quarter they are almost lost to view, and 
then they appear again coming home, and you begin once 
more to appreciate the rate at which they are coming. 
Still it is not the very best pace ; the Lady is taking it 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


236 


rather easy, as if conscious of having it all her own way ; 
and her driver looks as careless and comfortable as if he 
were only taking her out to exercise, when she glides 
past the stand. 

‘ 2^ 35/^,’ says Losing. He doesn’t need to look at 
his watch ; hut there is great comparing of stop-watches 
among the other men for the time of the first mile. 
Hardly half a length behind is Trustee ; he has been 
gradually creeping up without any signs of being hurried, 
and clumsily as he goes, gets over the ground without 
heating himself. 

^ John Case knows what he’s about after all,’ Ed- 
wards observes. ‘ He takes his time, and so does the old 
horse ; wait another round, and, at the third mile, they’ll 
be thtre^ 

But where’s Pelham? Is he lost? No, there he 
comes ; and. Castor and Pollux, what a burst ! Some- 
thing has waked him up after the other horses have pass- 
ed the stand, and while he is yet four or five lengths 
from it. There’s a brush for you ! Did you ever see a 
horse foot it so? — as if all the ideas of running that 
he may ever have had in his life were arrested, and 
fastened down into his trot. How he is closing up the 
gap ! If he can hold to that stroke he will be ahead 
of the field before the first quarter of this second mile 
is out. A mighty clamour arises, shouts from his ene- 
mies, who want to break him, cheers from his injudicious 
friends. There, he has lapped Trustee — he has passed 
him ; tearing at the bit harder than ever, he closes with 
Lady Suffolk. Byan does not begin to thrash his mare 
yet, he only shows the whip over her ; but he yells like 
a madman at her, and at Pelham, whose driver holds on 
to him as a drowning man holds on to a rope. They are 
going side by side at a terrific pace. It can’t last ; one 


286 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

of them must go up. The bay horse does go up just at 
the quarter pole, having fnade that quarter, Masters says, 
in the remarkably short time of thirty-six seconds and a 
half. 

Pelham’s driver can’t jerk him across the track ; by 
doing so he would foul Trustee, who is just behind ; so 
he has to let the chestnut go by, and then sets himself 
to work to bring down his unruly animal ; no easy mat- 
ter — for Pelham, frightened by the shouting, and excit- 
ed by the noise of the wheels, plunges about in a manner 
that threatens to spill or break down the sulky ; and 
twice, after being brought almost to a full stop, goes off 
again on a canter. Grood bye, little horse ! there’s no 
more chance for you. By this time, the Lady is nearly 
a quarter of a mile ahead, and going faster than ever. 
Somehow or other. Trustee has increased his speed too, 
and is just where he was, a short half-length behind her. 
The way in which he hangs on to the mare begins to 
frighten the Long-Islanders a little, but they comfort 
themselves with the hope that she has something left, 
and can let out some spare foot in the third mile, or 
whenever it may be necessary. 

Some forty seconds more elapse.: a period of time 
that goes like a flash when you are training your own 
flier, or ^ brushing’ on the road, but seems long enough 
when you are waiting for horses to come round, and then 
they appear once more coming home. The mare is still 
leading, with her beautiful, steady, unfaltering stroke ; 
but she is by no means so fresh-looking as when she 
started ; many a dark line of sweat marks her white hide. 
Close behind her comes Trustee ; the half-length gap 
has disappeared, and his nose is ready to touch Bryan’s 
jacket. There is hardly a wet hair discernible on him ; 
he goes perfectly at his ease, and seems to be in hand. 


A TKOT ON THE ISLAND. 


237 


^ He has her now/ is the general exclamation, ‘ and can 
pass her when he pleases.’ As the mare crosses the score 
(in 2'' 34^/, according to Edwards’s stop-watch), Bryan 
^ looks over his left shoulder,’ like the knights in old bal- 
lads, and becomes aware for the first time that the horse 
at his wheel is not Pelham, as he had supposed, but 
Trustee. 

The old fellow is another man. His air of careless 
security has changed to one of intense excitement. 
Slash ! slash ! slash ! falls the long whip, with half-a- 
dozen frantic cuts and an appropriate garnish of yells. 
Almost any other trotter would go off in a run at one 
such salute, to say nothing of five or six ; but the old 
mare, who ^ has no break in her,’ merely understands 
them as gentle intimations to go faster — and she does 
go faster. How her legs double up, and what a rush 
she has made ! There is a gap of three lengths be- 
tween her and Trustee. He never hurries himself, but 
goes on steadily as ever. See, as he passes, how he strad- 
dles behind like an old cow, and yet how dexterously he 
paddles himself along, as it were with one hind. foot. 
What a mixture of ugliness and efficiency his action is ! 
At the first quarter the Lady has come back to him. 
Three times during this, the last and decisive mile, is 
the performance repeated. You may hear Bryan’s voice 
and whip completely across the course, as he hurries his 
mare away from the pursuer ; but each succeeding time 
the temporary gap is shorter and sooner closed. 

Now they are coming down the straight stretch 
home. The mare leads yet. Case appears to be talking 
to his horse, and encouraging him ; if it is so, you can- 
not hear him, for the tremendous row Lady Suffolk’s 
driver is making. She had the pole at starting, has kept 
it throughout, and Trustee must pass her on the outside. 

11 * 


238 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


This circumstance is her only hope of winning. All 
her owner’s exertions, and all the encouraging shouts of 
her friends, which she now hears greeting her from the 
stand, cannot enable her to shake off Trustee an inch, 
but if she can only maintain her lead for six or seven 
lengths more, it is enough. The chestnut is directly in 
her rear ; every blow gets a little more out of her. — 
Half the short interval t(i the goal is passed, when Trus- 
tee ^diverges from his straight course, and shows his 
head alongside Bryan’s wheel. Catching his horse short. 
Case puts whip upon him for the first time, shakes him 
up with a great shout, and crowds him past the mare, 
winning the heat by a length. 

The little bay was so far behind at the end of the 
second mile, that no one took any notice of him, and he 
was supposed to have dropped out. somewhere on the 
road. His position, however, improved sensibly on the 
third mile ; still, as there was a strong probability of his 
being shut out, the judges despatched one of their num- 
ber to the distance-post with a flag ; a very proper pro- 
ceeding, only they thought of it rather late, for the judge 
arrived there only just before Pelham, and also just be- 
fore Trustee crossed the score ; in fact, the three events 
were all but simultaneous ; the judge dropped the flag 
in Pelham’s face, and Pelham in return nearly ran over 
the judge. This episode attracted no attention at the 
time of its occurrence, all eyes being directed to the lead- 
ing horses ; but now it affords materials for a nice little 
row, Pelham’s driver protesting violently against the 
distance. . There is much thronging, and vociferating, 
and swearing about the judge’s stand, into which one 
burly Irishman endeavours to force his way. One of the 
specials favours him with a rap on the head, that would 
astonish a hippopotamus. Pat doesn’t seem to mind it. 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


239 


but he understands it well enough (the argument is 
just suited to his capacity), and remains tolerably quiet. 
Finally, it is proclaimed that ^ Trustee wins the heat in 
7^ 45'''', and Pelham distanced.’ 

‘ Best three miles ever made in harness,’ says Harri- 
son, ‘ except when Dutchman did it in 7'' 41''^.’ 

Edwards doubts the fact, and they bet about it, and 
will write to the Spirit of the Times (the American 
BeWs Life). 

Ashburner and Masters descended from the stand. 
The horses, panting and pouring with sweat, are rubbed 
and scraped by their attendants, three or four to each. 
Then they are clothed, and walked up and down quietly. 
They have a rest of nominally half-an-hour, and practi- 
cally at least forty minutes. Some of the crowd are eat- 
ing oysters, more drinking brandy-and-water, and a still 
greater number ‘ loafing ’ about without any particular 
employment. There are two or three thimble-riggers on 
the ground, but they seem to be in a barren county ; 
nobody there is green enough for them ; the very small 
boys take sights at them. There is a tradition that Ed- 
wards once in his younger days tried his fortune with 
them. He looked so dandified, green, and innocent, that 
they let him win five dollars the first time, and then, on 
the rigger’s proposing to bet a hundred, his supposed 
victim applied the finger of scorn to the nose of derision, 
and strutted ofl’ with his Y.,* - to the great amusement of 
the bystanders. Tom is very proud of this story, and likes 
to tell it himself That, and his paying a French actress 
with a check when he had nothing at his banker’s, are 
two of the great exploits of his life. 

‘ This is rather a low assemblage certainly,’ says Ash- 


* A five-dollar bill ^ is so called Jfrom the^designation in Roman 
numerals upon it. 


240 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 

burner, after he had contemplated it from several points 
of view, and observed a great many different points of cha- 
racter. ‘ Do they ever have races here V 

‘ Yes, every spring and fall, here, or on the Union 
Course adjoining. They are rather more decently at- 
tended, but not over respectable, much less fashionable. 
At the South it is different; the ladies go, and the club 
races are some of the most marked features of their city 
life. I recollect when I was a boy, that these trotting 
matches were nice things, and gentlemen used to enter 
their own horses ; but gradually they have gone down 
hill to what they are now, and the names of the best trot- 
ters are associated with the hardest characters and the 
most disreputable species of balls.’ 

‘ And when they race, do the horses run on ground 
like this asked Ashburner, stamping on the track, 
which was as hard as Macadam. 

‘ Precisely on this, and run four-mile heats, too, and 
five of them sometimes.’ 

‘ Five four-mile heats on ground like this V The 
Englishman looked incredulous. 

‘ Exactly. It has happened that each of three has 
won a heat, and then there was one dead heat. You will 
remember, though, that we run old horses, not colts. 
There is no extra weight for age ; they begin at four or 
five years old, and go on till twelve or fourteen.’ 

‘ But they must be very liable to accidents, going on 
such hard soil.’ 

‘ Yes, they do break their legs sometimes, but not of- 
ten. Our horses are tougher than yours.’ 

As they stroll about. Masters points out several cele- 
brated fliers that have gained admission inside of the 
stand, but prefer remaining outside of the track ; some 
pretty well worn-out and emeriti^ like Ripton, an old 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


241 


rival of Lady Suffolk (the mare has outlasted most of 
her early contemporaries), some in their prime, like the 
trotting stallion^ Black Hawk, beautifully formed as any 
blood-horse, but singularly marked, being white-stocking- 
ed all round to the knee. ‘ There,’ says Harry, ‘ is a 
fellow that belies the old horse dealer’s rhyme, 

‘ Four white legs and a white nose, 

Take him away, and throw him to the crows.’ 

Time is up, and they return to the stand. Edwards 
is bantering Losing, and asks him if he will repeat his 
bet on this heat. He will fast enough, and double it on 
the final result. Edwards wants nothing better. 

This time, for a wonder, the horses get off at the first 
start, and a tremendous pace they make, altogether too 
much for Trustee, who is carried off his feet in the first 
half-quarter, and the Lady goes ahead three, four, five 
lengths, and has taken the pole before he can recover. 
Bryan continues to crowd the pace. The mare comes 
round to the score in 2'' 33''^, leading by four lengths, and 
her driver threshing her already. ‘ She can’t stand it,’ 
says the knowing ones ; ‘ she must drop out soon.’ But 
she doesn’t drop out in the second mile, at least, for at 
the end of that she is still three lengths in advance, and 
Trustee does not appear so fresh as he did last heat. The 
Long-Islanders are exultant, and the sporting men look 
shy. When they come home in the last quarter, the 
chesnut has only taken one length out of the gap ; never- 
theless, he goes for the outside, and makes the best rush 
he can. It’s no use. He can’t get near her ; breaks up 
again, and crosses the score a long way behind. Much 
manifestation of boisterous joy among the farmers. Ed- 
wards looks sold, and something like a smile passes over 
Losing’s unimpassioned countenance. It is plain sailing 


242 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


for the judges this time. ‘ Lady Suffolk has the heat in 
7^ and there is no mistake or dispute about it. 

Another long pause. Eight minutes’ sport and three 
quarters of an hour intermission among such a company 
begins to be rather dull work. All the topics of interest 
afforded by the place have been exhausted. Harrison 
and Masters begin to talk stocks and investments ; the 
juveniles are comparing their watering-place experi- 
ences during the summer. Ashburner says nothing, 
and smokes an indefinite number of cigars ; Losing says 
rather less, and smokes more. Edwards has disappeared ; 
gone, possibly, to talk to the doubtful carriages. It 
is growing dark before they are ready for the third and 
decisive heat. 

One false start, and at the second trial they are off. 
The mare has the inside, in right of having won the pre- 
ceding heat. She crowds the pace from the start as 
usual ; but Trustee is better handled this time, and does 
not break. Case allows the Lady to lead him by three 
lengths, and keeps his horse at a steady gait, in quiet 
pursuit of her. For two miles their positions are unal- 
tered ; Bryan’s friends cheer him vociferously every 
time as he comes round ; he replies by a flourish of his 
long whip and additional shouts to his mare. In the 
third mile. Trustee begins to creep up, and in the third 
quarter of it, just before he gets out of sight from the 
stand, is only a length and a half behind. When they 
appear again, there are plenty of anxious lookers-out ; 
and men like our friend Edwards, who have a thousand 
or more at stake on the result, cannot altogether restrain 
their emotions. Here they come close enough together ! 
Trustee has lapped the mare on the outside ; his head 
is opposite the front rim of her wheel. Bryan shouts 
and whips like one possessed ; Case’s small voice is also 


A TROT ON THE ISLAND. 


243 


lifted up to encourage Trustee. The chesnut is gaining, 
but only inch by inch, and they are nearly home. Now 
Case has lifted him with the whip, and he makes a rush 
and is at her shoulder. Now he will have her. Oh, dear, 
he has gone up ! Hurrah for the old gray ! Stay ; 
Case has caught him beautifully ; he is on his trot again 
opposite her wheel. One desperate effort on the part of 
man and horse, and Trustee shoots by the mare ; but 
not till after she has crossed the score. Lady Suffolk 
is quite done up ; she could not go another quarter ; but 
she has held out long enough to win the heat and the 
money. 

And now, as it was somewhere in the neighbourhood 
of seven, and neither Ashburner nor Masters had eaten 
anything since eight in the morning, they began to feel 
very much inclined for dinner, or supper, or something 
of the sort ; and the team travelled back quite as fast 
as it was safe to go by twilight a little faster, the 
Englishman might have thought, if he had not been so 
hungry. Then after crossing the Brooklyn ferry, Masters 
announced his intention of putting up his horses for the 
night at a livery stable, and himself at Ashburner’s 
hotel, as it was still a long drive at that time of night 
to Devilshoof ; which being agreed upon, they next dived 
into an oyster cellar, of which there are about two to a 
block all along Broadway, and ordered an unlimited 
supply of the agreeable shell-fish, broiled ; — oyster chops^ 
Ashburner used to call . them ; and the term gives a 
stranger a pretty good idea of what these large oysters 
look like, cooked as they are with crumbs, exactly in the 
style of a cotelette pan^e. And they make very nice 
eating, too ; only they promote thirst and induce the 
consumption of numerous glasses of champagne or 
brandy-and-water, as the case may be. Whether this be 


244 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


an objection to them or not, is matter of opinion. 
Then having adjourned to Ashburner’s apartment in the 
fifth story of the Manhattan Hotel (it was a room with 
an alcove, French fashion), and smoked numerous Fir- 
mezas there, the Englishman turned in for the night; 
and Masters, who had no notion of paying for a bed 
when he could get a sofa for nothing, disposed himself 
at full length upon Ashburner’s, without taking off* any- 
thing except his hat, and was fast asleep in less time 
than it would take The Sewer to tell a lie. 


245 


CHAPTEE X. 

A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 

I T was a lovely October day ; the temperature per- 
fectly Elysian, — not half a degree too hot or too 
cold, — and the air moister than is usual in the dry 
climate of the Northern States, altogether reminding 
one of Florence in early autumn, only less enervating. 
Ashburner and Harry Masters were gliding up the 
Hudson in a ^ floating palace,’ which is American penny- 
a-liner for a north-river steamboat. Gerard Ludlow was 
on board, handsome and distingue as ever, but a 
little thinned and worn by numberless polkas. He had 
got rid of his wife by a mighty effort, and was going to 
play le Mari d la Campagne ^ — not at Eavenswood, how- 
ever, but with some of the Yan Hornes, who lived higher 
up the river. While the young exquisite was rattling on 
in a sort of Macaronic French to Mrs. Masters about 
the mountains of Switzerland and the pictures of Italy, 
the ascent of the Nile and Hhat glorious Clos-Vougeot 
Blanc Mousseux at the Anglais \ — every topic, in short, 
that had not the least connection with America, — Ash- 
burner was witnessing for the third time, with unabated 
admiration, the magniflcent scenery of the classic 
American river, — for classic it is to a New-Yorker since 
Washington Irving has immortalized its legends. 

‘ I am glad to see you are not ashamed to show a 
little enthusiasm,’ said Masters, as he marked his friend 


246 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


leaning over the forward railing, absorbed in the view 
before him. ‘ Some people don’t care much for this sort 
of thing. There’s my cousin Ludlow, how supremely 
indifferent he is to it all ! He is talking to my wife 
about the last comic opera he saw in Paris, which repre- 
sents Shakspeare and Queen Bess getting very jolly 
together.’ 

‘ Certainly one would hardly be able to tell what 
countryman Ludlow was, without previous knowledge. 
He seems, like many of your fashionables, very much out 
of place here.’ 

‘ That’s true enough ; and the man most out of place 
among them all is my brother Carl, whom we are just 
going to visit.’ 

Ashburner’s recollection and knowledge of Carl 
Masters were pretty much comprised in a certain 
luncheon at Bavenswood, which he had found very much 
in place, and a very good place for. Henry went on to 
explain himself 

‘ He prides himself on a regard for two things — 
sincerity and equity — two very estimable virtues, no 
doubt, but capable of being ridden to death like all 
hobbies.’ 

Masters further proceeded to state that he was afraid 
they would find his brother in no very genial mood, — 
that, in fact, he had two special reasons at that time for 
being in bad humour. The anti-rent epidemic had bro- 
ken out in the vicinity, and his place was threatened with 
perforation by a railroad. The former, however perilous 
to some of his acquaintances, was no very terrible danger 
to Carl himself, he having as many tenants in the coun- 
try as his brother had in town — to wit, just one. The 
latter was considerably more serious in itself, and ren- 
dered particularly aggravating by attendant circumstan- 


A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 247 


ces. An equally convenient and much safer inland route 
for the railway had been originally proposed ; but Mr. 
Jobson, the chief engineer, started the project of a 
new one close along the shore, running through the beau- 
tiful private grounds that lined the whole east bank of 
the river for a hundred and fifty miles. The true mo- 
tive for this change was, that the company would thus 
have to pay less for right of way, since the inland route 
would have passed through the corn-fields and vegetable- 
grounds of farmers, to whom they must have made full 
compensation at the market value of the land, whereas 
by cutting through a private lawn, they could take the 
ground at a merely nominal rate, the damage caused to 
a gentleman by the destruction of his place for all the 
purposes of a country seat being a ^ fancy value,’ which 
jurors and commissioners chosen from the mass of the 
people, and regarding the aristocratic landholder with an 
envious eye, would never pay the least attention to. 
But, either from a lingering regard for outward decen- 
cy, or from some other motive, this, the real reason, met 
with only a passing allusion in Mr. Jobson’s report. He 
came out boldly, and recommended the river route as 
calculated to improve the appearance of the shore, by 
filling up bays and cutting off sharp points.* What 
made it worse was, that the majority of these very gen- 
tlemen proprietors had been induced to subscribe large- 
ly to the road under the solemn assurance from leading 
members of the company (which took care not to make 
itself officially and corporately responsible) that the in- 
land route would be adopted, which assurance was 
thrown to the winds as soon as the books were filled up. 


* A literal fopt. Washington Irving’s residence was among those 
disfigured by this operation, which made havoc of all the oldest and 
most beautiful properties in the State. 


248 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


Carl was not to be taken in so ; he had refused to sub- 
scribe to the road, and opposed it to the extent of his 
small influence from the flrst ; he might be the victim of 
such people, but he would not be their dupe. This was 
one consolation to him. Another was, that the railway, 
when it did come upon him, which would not be for two 
years yet. would not absolutely ruin his place. It would 
not go through his house, or across the lawn in front of 
it, or break down his terrace, for which Nature was to be 
thanked, and not Mr. Jobson. Kavenswood was partly 
within one of the to-be-improved bays, and, consequent- 
ly, the rails would cut it close along the water and un- 
der the terraced bank. It merely stopped his access to 
the river, which, as he did not yacht, and had room for 
the little boating he wanted in the adjoining bay, was no 
great deprivation. At any rate, the danger anticipated 
by Harry turned out all moonshine. When they stop- 
ped at Yan Burenopolis (the landing nearest Bavens- 
wood), Carl’s rockaway was on the ground, and in ten 
minutes their host received them at his front door, both 
his hands outstretched, and his face lighted up with un- 
feigned pleasure. 

Carl Masters was an unflattered likeness of his 
brother, with a larger nose, large feet, that got into every 
one’s way, coarser hair, and narrower chest ; altogether 
a rougher and inferior type of form ; but he had a fresh 
and ruddy complexion, and though he was Henry’s senior 
by six years, there did not seem to be more than a 
twelvemonth between them. In dress he was as quiet as 
Harry was gay ; never cared how old his clothes were, 
so long as he had plenty of clean linen ; was often two 
years behind the fashion ; affected black coats and gray 
trousers ; eschewed enamelled chains, jewelled waistcoat- 
buttons, and other similar fopperies of Young New- 


A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN AT HOME 249 


York; preferred shoes (not of patent leather) to boots, 
and usually tied his cravat in the smallest possible bow. 
Nor was the contrast in manner between the two brothers 
less marked ; the elder was shy and retiring before 
strangers, and would have been called a very awkward 
man anywhere but in England. You might easily guess 
from his way of behaving himself on a first introduction, 
the uncertain style of his movements, and his ‘ butter- 
finger’ fashion of taking hold of things, that he had none 
of that dexterity in the little every-day occasions of life 
which distinguished Harry; who, for instance, could 
harness a horse about as soon as his groom, while Carl 
would have been half the day about it, and not have 
done it well after all : Harry could carry out a compli- 
cated affair of business at one interview, without coming 
off worst ; but his elder brother would have pottered 
about it three days, and probably been cheated in the 
end. In fact Harry, though the junior, worked most of 
the financial and legal arrangements of the family, which 
fact, combined with the way he had of making Carl a 
stalking-horse for his stories, had more than once caused 
Carl to be regarded as a purely mythical personage. — 
This inaptitude for small business, this want of promp- 
titude and dexterity, of presence of mind and body, so 
to speak, is not very detrimental in Europe, where a 
gentleman with a tolerably well-filled purse can have so 
much done for him ; but in America, where the richest 
man has to do so much for himself, it is a constantly re- 
curring inconvenience, and it struck the Englishman al- 
most immediately that this, though not especially allud- 
ed to by Henry, was one of the things that made Carl 
out of place in his own fatherland. 

The mansion at Kavenswood,' which had braved the 
storms of eighty-five winters (a venerable age for an 


250 SKETCHES OF AMEKICAH SOCIETY. 


American house), was pitched on a hill commanding a 
view of the Hudson for forty miles. Without, it was 
built of rough stone, with an ample wooden stoop run- 
ning all round it, and a great variety of vines and creep- 
ers running round all the pillars of the stoop ; — within, 
it branched off into large halls and spacious rooms, filled 
with antediluvian furniture, and guiltless of the ambi- 
tious upholstery attempts of Young New-York, which in 
such matters goes ahead of Paris itself. The library 
alone, in which Carl lived, — that is to say, he did every- 
thing but dining and sleeping there, — was. fitted up in 
modern style, furnished with luxurious arm-chairs and 
sofas, the walls and ceiling neatly painted in oak, and 
the principal window composed of one oval pane of glass 
set in a frame, to which the external landscape supplied 
an exquisite picture. The hill swept down to the water’s 
edge almost, where it terminated abruptly in a lofty ter- 
race, ninety feet above the level of the shore. The wood- 
lands all about — on Masters’ place, on the places adjoin- 
ing, on the opposite bank — would have been beautiful 
at any time of the 3^ear ; now, when the foliage was 
changing colour, in anticipation of the coming frost, they 
were surpassingly so. As the trees change not all at 
once, but different ones assume different tints succes- 
sively, the natural kaleidoscope is varied from day to day. 
The sumach leaf is one of the first to alter ; it becomes 
a vivid scarlet ; then the maple assumes a brilliant red 
and gold ; then others put on a rich sienna, and others 
a warm olive. Here and there were interspersed patch- 
es of evergreens, pines looking almost blue, and cedars 
looking quite black from the contrast of the gorgeous 
and fiery colouring that surrounded them. The river 
water was deep blue ; in the little bay north of Ravens- 
wood it shaded off into a soft olive from the reflection of 


A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 


251 


the foliage and grass about it ; while beyond the further 
bank of the Hudson rose the Kaatskill * chain, richly 
wooded to their summits, and painted with the myriad 
dyes of autumn, — a fitting background to the landscape. 
Of course the finest part of this view was beyond the 
limits of Ravenswood, but so much of it as belonged to 
Carl (and his grounds covered some two hundred acres) 
was cleverly disposed with the help of an ingenious land- 
scape-gardener ; the trees were cut into picturesque 
clumps and vistas, opened at the desirable points. Henry, 
who bragged for all the family as well as for himself, 
took care to inform Ashburner how, when the place came 
into Carl’s possession (or rather into his wife’s, for by the 
laws of New- York, the wife’s property is absolutely hers, 
and out of her husband’s control) by the demise of his 
father-in-law, there was hardly a carriage-road on it, and 
how he had devoted all his spare income to it for seven 
years, ^ and made it what you see.’ 

' As the Englishman had nothing to do for some days 
but to ramble about Ravenswood, and talk to the owner 
of it, he had full opportunity of ascertaining how far his 
brother’s estimate of him was correct, and also how far 
the difference between the two, particularly in their prac- 
tical aptitude for business, was attributable to the fact, 
that one of them had finished his education in England, 
and the other in America, which, for a New-Yorker, 
means in Paris, in Germany, half over the continent of 
Europe, in short. His conclusion was, that some of the 
qualities which made his host so ‘ out of place ’ were natu- 
ral, and that others had been superinduced upon these by 
his English education. 

Harry Masters had truly stated, that his brother’s 


* Commonly written Catskill ; but I believe the above is the gen- 
uine Dutch orthography. 


252 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


prominent trait of character was sincerity. He used to 
say of himself, that the fairy had bestowed on him true 
Thomas’s gift, ‘ the tongue that ne’er could lie,’ and that 
the consequent incapacities predicted by the Scottish 
minstrel had fallen upon him ; he could neither buy nor 
sell, nor pay court to prince or peer (that is, in America, 
to the sovereign people), nor win favour of fair lady. 
Certainly this is a dangerous quality in any country, 
unless tempered with an exquisite tact, which was not 
among Carl’s possessions ; but it is peculiarly dangerous 
in America, for there is no public (not excepting the 
French or Irish) that feeds so greedily on pure humbug 
as the American. Populus vult decipi there with a 
vengeance ; and when the general current of feeling has 
set towards any show or phantasm, moral, political, lite- 
rary, or social, woe to the individual who plants himself 
in its way. 

Equally correct was the assertion that equity was a 
leading idea of his mind. ^ Give the devil his due,’ was 
one of his favourite proverbs ; and when he said that a 
thing ‘ was not fair,’ it seemed to him a conclusive argu- 
ment against it. His conception of the virtues was the 
genuine Aristotelian one — a medium between two ex- 
tremes. Not that he was a lukewarm partisan on all 
subjects ; but of the people he most disliked — and he was 
a really ‘ good hater ’ of some classes, Romanists for in- 
stance, and Frenchmen, and Southern slaveholders — he 
could not bring himself to take any unfair advantage. 
Now it is no news to any one who knows anything of the 
Americans, that they are a nation of violent extremes ; 
the different political parties, theological sects, geographi- 
cal divisions — the literati of different cities even, — vitu- 
perate and assail one another fearfully, hardly respecting 
the laws of the land, much less the principles of natural 


A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 253 


justice. Add to all this, that Carl had a naturally ele- 
gant and fastidious taste, certain to make him aristocra- 
tic in sentiment, however democratic he might be in prin- 
ciple, and it will be seen that he had a tolerable stock of 
incompatibilities to start with before having anything to 
do with England. 

But, as if to settle his business completely, and pre- 
vent him from ever becoming a contented and content- 
ing citizen of his own country, it chanced that just at 
the period of his youth, when, according to the wont of 
Young America, dress and billiards formed the main to- 
pic of his conversation, and he was aspiring to the pos- 
session of a fast trotter, accident took him to England, 
and a series of accidents kept him there, and caused him 
to make it his home for several years, and his standpoint 
for all his continental excursions. He grew up to ma- 
ture manhood among and along with a generation of En- 
glishmen. He acquired a taste for classical studies, and 
for that literary society, and those habits of literary and 
ethical criticism which are nowhere else found in such 
perfection. His life had always been strictly, even pru- 
dishly moral ; and while casting off the frivolities and fop- 
peries of his boyhood, he also parted with much of the 
impulsive and imperfectly understood religion of his 
younger days, and replaced it by a more sedate and per- 
manent feeling, which never rose to ecstasy of emotion, 
but was always present to him as a daily habit, and was 
deeply earnest, with little outward show. 

Such a man’s tendencies were visibly towards the 
Church ; and had Carl been an Englishman, or continued 
his sojourn in England, he would have taken orders 
naturally and inevitably, and might have made a toler- 
able parson. But at home he soon found it impossible 
to assimilate himself to that Evangelical party which 
12 


254 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


constitutes tlie great bulk of the American religious com- 
munity. 

The three leading tendencies of his character already 
alluded to, fostered as they were by his residence abroad, 
had ended by making him very eclectic and very uncon- 
ventional. He took what seemed good to him from 
every quarter, without reference to antecedents ; and the 
fact that all the world about him were going one way, 
was just the reason to make him go the other. The 
Puritan denunciations of all who differed from them on 
points of transcendental theology, or of social institu- 
tions, seemed to him illiberal and uncharitable. His re- 
ligion acted upon him somewhat like the Socratic Dae- 
mon ; it restrained him from actions, rather than 
prompted him to them. He abhorred all parade of god- 
liness, and shrunk from disclosing his religious experi- 
ences, as he would have done from disclosing his loves, to 
a mixed assemblage. There were many things about 
these people besides their abhorrence of the fine arts, 
that shocked his aesthetic sensibility, and their inquisitive 
censoriousness he deemed ungentlenianly in point of 
manners, and little short of persecution in point of prin- 
ciple. What most of all repelled him was their unmiti- 
gated ‘seriousness.’ A certain notorious personage, 
whom it is no scandal to call the greatest of living char- 
latans, is reported to have taken for his motto (literally 
taken^ and half spoiled in the appropriation, from a Bishop 
of old), ‘Praise God, and be merry.’ Now this was 
exactly what Carl wanted to do, to praise God, and be 
merry ; and he did not think the latter clause of the 
device implied any necessary incompatibility with the 
former. He held strongly to the ‘ neque semper arcum^ 
and thought that a man was all the better man, and bet- 
ter Christian, for an occasional season of healthy enjoy- 


A COUNTEY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 255 


ment. He did not think ^ teetotalism ’ necessa 
prevent gentlemen from becoming drunkards, and he took 
his regular exercise on Sunday as well as on other days. 
His sincere nature revolted equally from the idea of 
dissembling a merriment which he felt, and from that of 
simulating a religious enthusiasm which he did not feel. 
With all personal respect for such men, and all rever- 
ence for the service they had done to the cause of vital 
religion, and civil, no less than religious liberty, he very 
soon found that he could not amalgamate with them, and 
gave up all intention of going into the church. Thus it 
came to pass, that letting himself slide into the place 
which his fortune and connexions had marked out for 
him, he became a man of society, and a gentleman of the 
world. It proved that he was not entirely free from the 
national error of quitting one extreme for another; 
it could only be said in his defence, that his new role 
rather came to, than was sought for by him. Perhaps 
his fastidiousness partly led him into it ; but this trait 
of his mind showed itself more in intellectual criticism 
than in material Sybaritism, and more in the choice of 
companions than either. Certainly he had no great qua- 
lifications for the part, especially in New York, and very 
wild work he made of it with his peculiar ideas, some of 
which were rather English, and all of which were consi- 
derably the reverse of American. 

The first offence that Carl gave was by getting mar- 
ried in church as quietly as anything can be done in 
New-York, and going out of the way immediately after- 
wards, instead of standing his bride up for eight hundred 
people to look at. He was shamefully negligent of his 
duties to society in not having given ^ a reception.’ Carl 
said that he married for the present happiness and future 
comfort of himself and his wife, not for the amusement of 


256 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


society ; and that was all the explanation he deigned to 
give his fashionable acquaintances. 

His next eccentricity was refusing to read The Sewer ^ 
to let it enter his house, or to talk about it. He said, 
that in Europe, scandalous newspapers were not taken in 
by respectable families, that even young men read them 
at their clubs, and by stealth, and never mentioned them 
before ladies ; that people making pretensions to superior 
morality and decency ought not to patronize an immoral 
and blasphemous print — and more to the same effect. 
Men and women who referred to France as the standard 
of half the things they did, taunted him with referring to 
England. Masters did not think it worth while to dis- 
cuss the merits of that case, but answered by a quotation 
from Aristophanes, how ‘ clever folks learn many things 
from their enemies,’ — which he had to translate before 
his auditors understood it, — and by another of like pur- 
port from a Latin bard, which they were less slow to 
comprehend, as it has become part of the stock in trade 
of our public speakers, and even the editors know what it 
means. Then one man liked The Sewer because it had 
the best reports of trotting matches ; and another, be- 
cause it published the news from Washington half-an- 
hour sooner than any of its contemporaries; and they all 
said, that all the papers were so bad, it was merely a 
question of degree, and not of kind. Nobody agreed with 
Carl, not even the people who were abused by The Sewer ^ 
and he made no converts out of his own family — his wife, 
brother, and sister. 

But his great crime was blaspheming the polka, for 
which I believe Young New- York thought him abso- 
lutely insane, and would gladly have put him into a 
strait-jacket. He thought that a matinee which lasted 
from noon to midnight was an absurd and wicked waste 


A COUNTKY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 257 


of time ; that even six hours a day was too much for a 
reasonable being to devote to the redowa ; that at a ball 
or party tLere should be some place for people who like 
to converse, and a- non-dancing man should not be stuck 
into a corner all the evening on pain of being knocked 
over by the waltzers ; that the tipsy excesses of the young 
gentlemen who lorded in the ball room rendered their so- 
ciety not the most edifying for ladies; and as whatever he 
thought he gave utterance to in pretty plain language, he 
made himself prodigiously unpopular, and was a great 
nuisance to the exclusives. 

On the other hand he found things enough to annoy 
him. He had no like-minded, and it seemed no like- 
hodied men to associate with ; no gentlemen to converse 
with on classical subjects, no acqaintances to join him in 
his long walks and drives. He was not over fond of the 
French. ‘ They made the best coffee and gloves in the 
world,’ he used to say, ‘ but coffee and gloves, after all, 
aro a very small part of life.’ Therefore it was irksome 
to him to hear the French always appealed to as the 
standard of dress, furniture, and manners. Above all, it 
worried him to find their language the recognised one of 
the salon and the opera. That two or three persons, 
whose native tongue was English, should go on talking 
imperfect French (for the knowledge acquired by a two 
years’ residence in Paris must be comparatively imper- 
fect), though no foreigners were present, struck him as a 
mischievous absurdity, and directly calculated to hinder 
mental growth. But all these were petty troubles com- 
pared to the misery he endured from the gossiping and 
scandalous propensities of his fashionable acquaintance. 
He now found his error in supposing that there is any 
peculiar illiberality and uncharitableness in a religious 
community, as distinguished from a worldly one ; and 


258 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


discovered, that in avoiding the Evangelical connexion, 
he had not escaped the spirit of inquisitive censorious- 
ness. A common error of young men is this : they fancy 
that because people of the world talk of their liberality, 
and parade it ostentatiously, they must possess an extra 
share of it. And doubtless they are more charitable to- 
wards their favorite propensities; the ‘jolly good fellow’ 
will judge leniently of his bottle companion’s trippings, 
and so on through the calendar of vices : though even 
this proposition is not to be received absolutely. Cata- 
line will sometimes be found complaining of sedition ; 
most offenders have some lingering sense remaining of 
original right and wrong; not enough to keep them 
straight, but enough to blame others for the self-same 
obliquities. But to try the question correctly, we should 
examine the worldly, not in their judgments of one ano- 
ther, but in their judgments of the religious, and see how 
much liberality they show them. We should watch the 
hatred of virtue and purity, and the envy of fair fame, 
developing themselves in every form of slander and de- 
traction, from the sly innuendo to the open falsehood. All 
merely fashionable society has a necessary tendency to 
be scandalous ; fashionable people must talk a great deal 
without any definite purpose, and personal topics are al- 
ways the readiest at hand for small talk, in a momen- 
tary dearth of others — this one’s dress and appearance — 
that one’s style of living — who is attentive to whom — 
and so on ; so that besides the gossip which springs 
from deliberate wickedness, there is a great deal that is 
the result of mere thoughtlessness and vacuity. And 
New-York fashionable society is probably more scanda- 
lous than any other, because there are fewer public amuse- 
ments for persons of leisure than in the continental cities 
of Europe, while the men have not that vent in political 


A COUNTEY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 


259 


life, or the women in out-door exercise, which Londoners 
find. 

Now Carl was imbued with the idea (I believe it was 
one of his acquired English ones) that the first duty of 
a gentleman is to mind his own business. He had a 
horror of interfering with any one’s private affairs, and 
an equal horror of any one interfering with his. It 
sickened him, therefore, to be among people who were 
always speaking ill of one another, and fetching and car- 
rying stories. He grew tired of every one in the not 
very large circle of his acquaintance, which his fastidi- 
ousness, before adverted to, had always kept small ; for 
he hated immoral people, and had a very imperfect 
sympathy for vulgar ones ; and the man who begins by 
excluding these two classes, will make a large hole in his 
visiting list. He was in danger of becoming morbid and 
misanthropic. The natural and proper resource for a 
person so situated, is to take up some active and steady 
occupation — ride some hobby, if he can do nothing bet' 
ter, — at any rate, give himself enough to do. Carl was 
not a man of hobbies, and all the available ones were 
ridden to death already. The first resort of a young 
Englishman, with good fortune and connexions, is poli- 
tics : it is the very last resort of a New-Yorker similar- 
ly situated. He usually has enough of it at college ; is 
a violent politician at sixteen, and by nineteen gives up 
all thoughts of shining in that way. Why this is so, 
I will not stop to explain at present, as I have no inten- 
tion of writing a treatise d la De Tocqueville on the 
working of democratic institutions in America. I only 
mention the fact; perhaps you will find some further 
light thrown on it before we get to the end of this pa- 
per. 

Two refuges lay open before him — business and lit- 


260 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


erature. ^ Business’ — banking, or commerce of some 
sort, is the shortest way for a New-Yorker to dispose of 
himself; but Carl had neither taste nor ability for trad- 
ing or finance, and was too frank and unsuspecting to 
make his way profitably in a very sharp mercantile com- 
munity. To literature his ideas naturally turned; and 
in some countries a productive literary life might have 
been his happy destiny. He was not necessitated to 
write for a livelihood, and was just the sort of man to 
write for reputation. It was the occupation for which 
his tastes and his education fitted him. 

But he had been too well educated for an American 
litterateur. His standard of excellence was pitched too 
high. The popular novels provoked his criticism, not 
his emulation. The exaggerated flattery of newspaper 
puffs, and the Little-Peddlingtonism of sectional cliques 
disgusted him. He would not toady others, and disliked 
being toadied himself He had too correct an apprecia- 
tion of newspaper editors, and too much candour to dis- 
guise this appreciation. His accurate taste was shocked 
by little mechanical deficiencies — the carelessness of com- 
positors and proof readers — the impossibility of getting 
a Greek quotation set up correctly. He wrote for ele- 
gantly and thoroughly educated men, such as had been 
the associates of his youth, and found few of his country- 
men to read, and fewer to understand him ; consequent- 
ly, after a brief experience, he gave up all writing for 
publication except one species of authorship, which had 
only a semblance of doing others any good, and which 
did himself a great deal of harm. 

This was the controversial and satirical, to which he 
was prompted by an honest abhorrence of shams, and in 
which he was encouraged by the morbid public appetite 
for anything savouring of personality' or approaching to 


A COUNTEY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 261 


a ‘ row’ upon paper. Carl bad a knack of saying disa- 
greeable things in a disagreeable w^y, with some point 
and smartness — was clever in prose parody, in the re- 
diictio ad abmrdum, in quoting a man against himself, 
— in short, up to all the ‘ dodges’ of belligerent criticism, 
and had a lively sense and keen perception of the ridicu- 
lous ; but not priding himself as a gentleman and a 
Christian on these accomplishments, he did his best to 
keep them down, just as he did to keep down any ten- 
dency to say ill-natured things in social intercourse, and 
only gave them play when provoked by any flagrant ex- 
hibition of imposture. But having once found by ex- 
periment how this sort of writing took, how an hour’s 
ebullition of sarcasm would command attention when 
two months of research and polish were unheeded, and 
having no lack of material to tempt him, he was seduced 
into it again and again. If a sciolist undertook to put 
forth a new theory of the Platonic philosophy without 
having mastered his Greek grammar, Carl Masters was 
at hand to turn him inside out, and show up his preten- 
sions. If a demagogue took up the formulas and watch- 
words of other times and countries, to malign his bet- 
ters, and stir up one class against another, Carl was the 
first to dissent from the popular voice of panegyric, and 
demonstrate in plain terms what mischievous nonsense 
the lecturer had been uttering. If a radical magazine 
blazoned out the discovery of some prodigious mare’s 
nest — some awful conspiracy of England against Ameri- 
can liberty or letters, who was so ready as Carl to point 
out that the editor could not spell the most ordinary for- 
eign name straight, and did not exactly know the differ- 
ence between Fraser and the Edinburgh ? Booksellers 
and periodicals were glad enough to publish these squibs, 
and the reading public read them fast enough, with con- 
12 * 


262 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


siderable amusement, and no profit or intention of pro- 
fiting by them ; it was parvis componere magna^ like 
Aristophanes and Cleon ; the bystanders cheered the 
exposer, and followed the exposed as fast as ever. Carl 
began to set up for a professed satirist, — one of the worst 
things that can befall a man, for the benefit he confers 
on others is very problematical, and the evil he infiicts 
on himself positive and inevitable. 

He who had been the merriest of young men found 
himself growing ill-natured and morbid when he should 
have been in the prime of life. It was hard to say 
which he disliked most, the exclusives or the democracy, 
and he uttered his mind about both pretty freely. He 
was sick of the newspapers, with their bad print and 
worse principles — of the endless debates about the same 
old questions in Congress — of literary pretenders, and 
the thousand and one ‘most remarkable men among us,’ 
— of all the continuously succeeding popular delusions ; 
of the gossiping young men in illimitable cravats, and 
all the personal intelligence about Mr. Brown and Miss 
Jones. Still he clung to old Gotham for a reason that 
influenced few people in it. He had strong conservative 
feelings and local attachments ; his childhood (unlike his 
brother’s) had been spent in the city, and the scenes of 
his childhood were dear to him, however little interest 
he might feel in the new characters that peopled them. 
But when in the rapid march of ‘ up town’ progress, the 
house which his father built, where his parents had died, 
and he and his brother and sister played as children, be- 
came so surrounded by shops and stores, and manufac* 
tories, that he was fairly driven out of it, then he with- 
drew from the city altogether, and established himself 
for all the year round at his — that is to say, at his wife’s 
. — ^place on the Hudson. His contemporaries speedily 


A COUKTRY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 263 


forgot him, or if they ever thought of him, it was only 
as an unhappy recluse, Bellerophon*like, eating his own 
heart, and shunning the ways of men. 

He was nothing of the sort. In quitting the town, 
he quitted most of his sources of discontent. He had 
great capacity of self-amusement when fairly left to 
himself, and could always find interesting occupation in 
his library. He now reaped the fruit of his early 
studies, though not exactly in the way he had once 
hoped and anticipated. His place, too, amused him 
greatly, and not keeping up two establishments, he had 
money in abundance to spend on it. He revelled in 
out-of-door exercise ; it was a constant pleasure to him 
to gallop his blood mare (a taste for horses ran in the 
family) over fresh grass, where there were no omnibuses 
or fast trotters in his way. Nor was he without society ; 
those who are unpopular with the majority can generally 
boast of a few of the warmest personal friends, and it 
was so in his case. They came to visit him by intervals 
and relays, — real worthies of literature, who had been 
his father’s friends before they were his, — quiet men of 
general tastes and accomplishments like Philip Van 
Horne; now and then a like-minded stranger, such as 
Ashburner, or his sister and her husband, a good matured, 
gentlemanly ornamental Philadelphian ; or his brother Har- 
ry. But most of all was he happy in his family circle ; a 
man of the warmest domestic affections, he rejoiced in 
the society of his children and the cheering presence of 
his wife. We owe this lady an apology for not bringing 
her forward sooner : it would have been more in accord, 
ance with the grammar of gallantry to ‘ put the more 
worthy person first.’ And yet, reader, may it not be better 
to keep the good wine till the last, and after telling you 
a great deal about a man whom you may not like, then 


264 


SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


to tell you something about a woman whom you must, 
or, at least, you ought to like ? So let me present you 
to Mrs. Carl Masters. 

Henry Masters used to say that Carl had carried 
out his eclectic principles in the choice of his wife, for 
she was something between a blonde and a brunette, and 
had dark eyes and light hair. She was a tall woman 
(according to the American standard of female height — 
I am not sure that she would have been considered so in 
England), and her figure rose up straight and springy 
as a reed. Altogether, she was in beautiful preserva- 
tion, which is more than can be said for every American 
woman who has mounted into ‘ the thirties,’ and is the 
mother of three children. Her shoulders were magnifi- 
cent, her bust good, her arms and hands exquisitely 
moulded, her feet and ankles neatly turned, her features 
regular, yet not wanting in expression, and her complex- 
ion almost perfect. Still with all these elements of 
beauty, and though of good family (she was one of the 
Yan Hornes), and sufficient worldly prospects, she 
had never been a great belle, and this was an addi- 
tional charm in her husband’s eyes, who would never 
have deeply loved a woman that all the world ran after. 
Indeed she had not belle accomplishments or tastes, 
preferred singing English ballads to Italian arias, and 
galloping over the country all the morning to dancing 
at a ball all the night. And she was so insensible to 
the advantage of a cavalier se^ that she would rather 
talk to an amusing woman than to a stupid man, how- 
ever handsome and fashionable. Of toilet mysteries she 
knew enough to keep her from dressing badly, but not 
enough to make her dress well and effectively. Her 
talents were not of the showy order, and did not fit her 
for shining in the salon. She had good (not extra- 


A COUKTRY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 


265 


ordinary) natural abilities, and bad been beautifully 
‘coached,’ first by her father, and afterwards by her 
husband, so that without any pedantry or bas bleu-i^xn^ 
she displayed an extensive acquaintance with literary 
topics, but she was not brilliant in small talk, in playful 
raillery, or cut-and-thrust repartee. When she was in 
Paris (as Miss Louisa Yan Horne), the French could 
make nothing of her ; they thought her a handsome bit 
of marble, cold, unirapassioned, and uninteresting. And 
when more lately Vincent Le Roi came, as Henry’s 
umbra, to pass a few days at Ravenswood, the Yicomte 
went away saying that Madame Carl Masters was un- 
doubtedly an angel, but, for his part, he didn’t like 
angels ; they were misty and insipid ; he much preferred 
les Jilles cVEve. And all who knew Le Roi agreed that 
he would not know well what to do with an angel. On 
the other hand, it must be set off against the deficiencies 
above mentioned, that she was a true and a loving wife, a 
fond mother, a benevolent lady, and a sincere Christian. 

Such was — no, such was not the mistress of Ravens- 
wood. I feel the attempted portrait is inadequate. A 
passing description cannot do justice to the w^oman any 
more than a passing interview. Her superficial blem- 
ishes — want of ease in her conversation, or of crinoline 
in her dress, — were obvious to the casual observer ; but 
the sterling qualities of her character, her truth and hon- 
esty, her constancy of affection, her unworldly disposi- 
tion, her loftiness of soul — all these, as they could only 
be properly appreciated by those who had known her for 
years, so can they only be generally and vaguely hinted 
at in a brief sketch like this. The great mystery was, 
how she came to marry Carl. Every one said she was 
too good for him, and he would have been the last man 
to deny it. Perhaps she was pleased with his simple 


266 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIEIT. 

integrity, and foresaw that he would make a most affec- 
tionate husband, though it was not in his nature to be a 
passionate lover. Perhaps she pardoned his awkward- 
ness in’ regard for his honesty. Perhaps it was one of the 
singular cases (occurring, however, so often in society that 
they can hardly be called singular) where a woman 
marries a man not half good enough for her, or, vice versa^ 
without any one being able to explain why. 

After all, I would not claim that she was morally 
perfect ; very few of us are. I am afraid she was rather 
censorious, and judged harshly of sinners ; that in her 
own comfortable position she did not always weigh ac- 
curately the temptations of others It is a common 
practice of very good and moral people to indemnify 
themselves for their virtue by depreciation of others ] 
’tis an error that lurks at the heels of Christian duty ; 
for are we not commanded to hate sin ? and the transi- 
tion from the abstract to the concrete is so easy. 

I fancy, too, she did not harmonize altogether wdth 
Mrs. Henry Masters. Indeed, the two sisters-in-law 
made little secret of their mutual incompatibility. 
Clara said that Louisa was very proper and very stupid, 
regular as a machine, and with no fun or frolic in her — 
that the only man she ever had about her, her cousin 
Philip, was as dull as herself, — that she dressed badly, 
and talked bad French, — that she went to church in the 
morning, and gossiped in the afternoon, and was more 
charitable to the bodies of her inferiors than to the souls 
of her equals. Louisa looked down upon Clara as a 
worldly and frivolous little creature, who fostered her 
beauty to attract admirers, and worried her husband to 
death by her caprices, who wasted her time in dancing 
and flirting, and her moriej^ in Parisian nick-nacks, or in 
giving parties to people who did not care for her. In 


A COUNTKY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 267 


short, the two ladies said many hard things of each other 
when separate, and were painfully amiable when toge- 
ther. 

But these bickerings did not greatly impair the hap- 
piness of our party at Bavenswood. The brothers loved 
each other as much as if they had not been brothers, and 
had not had to divide a large family estate between 
them. Even their wives’ quarrels could not make them 
quarrel. 

Many a jolly turn had they and their guest, loung- 
ing with their cigars after breakfast on the vine-trellised 
stoop, or under the spreading horse-chesnuts at one cor- 
ner of the house, watching the white sails that glided by 
on the sunny water, and the fantastic cloudlets that 
floated in the clear sky ; strolling through the winding 
walks, or across the terrace at evening, when the set- 
ting sun had piled red clouds like a huge volcano over 
the Hudson, and the Kaatskills looked like great blocks 
of lapis lazuli, their summits half veiled in fiery mist; 
riding through the adjacent country in bright moonlight 
nights, now threading their way among the uncertain 
bridle paths of a dense wood, and anon startling a vil- 
lage with their clattering hoofs and boisterous merriment 
as they swept by it at full gallop ; driving four-in-hand a 
live long day to visit friends, who lived north or south of 
them on the rivers, by roads that rose up over the hills 
and showed all the glorious panorama of the Hudson, 
and then dipped down inland among picturesque glens 
and water-courses and mill-streams. Capital game 
breakfasts they had, which the women were not too sen- 
timental to help them in doing justice to ; and excellent 
plain dinners, with oceans of iced champagne ; and when 
the cloth was drawn, Carl would chirp over his claret 
with .05 comfortable a melancholy as ever any ‘ ruined ’ 


268 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


Protectionist gentleman in Old England gave utterance 
to. 

At a very early period of their acquaintance, Henry 
Masters had put Ashburner up to the way of getting 
at the dark side of things in America. ‘Never assail 
anything,’ he said ; ‘ if you do, the people will tackle you, 
from the highest to the lowest. JLet an American gentle- 
man talk; give him his head, and he will soon lead you 
on the track you want.’ Acting on this hint, the En- 
glishman let his host talk ; what little he said himself 
would come in the form of a query or suggestion. ‘ You 
lead a very nice life here,’ he would say, ‘ but it is rather 
quiet. I should think an active man like yourself would 
choose some more stirring form of existence.’ Then 
Carl blazed out. 

‘ Go into politics I suppose ! A nice business that 
for an honest man and a gentleman ! Why. Ashburner, 
the democracy of our State, who are always in fear of 
being reduced to vassalage by a few thousand easy and 
unambitious rich men, have lost their liberties without 
perceiving it to hundreds of thousands of alien settlers 
with their foreign priests. A successful politician here 
is either a hack lawyer of thirty years’ standing, who 
has had opportunity enough of getting sed to the devil’s 
work in his first business, or an upstart demagogue, who 
has made his way by dint of sheer brass ; either a blind 
partisan, who knows nothing outside of ‘ the regular tick- 
et,’ or a ‘ non-committal ’ man, who says everything to 
everybody, and never gave an intelligible, manly, straight- 
forward opinion in his life. One party would sell us 
body and soul to the Slaveholders, and the other to 
the Anti renters, and both to the Irish. If I could 
bring myself to enter the lists with such people, I 
should have to start with the dead weight of being a 


A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN AT HOME. 269 


‘ millionaire ’ (as they call every man here who has two 
or three hundred thousand dollars) and an ‘aristocrat,’ 
(as they call every man who has the habits and education 
of a gentleman). There is not a voter in this country that 
has less influence than I have : — to be sure, I don’t try for 
any, because I well know that by doing so, I should only 
make myself more unpopular, without becoming any more 
influential. Or be a leader of fashion, perhaps — one of 
those people who talk scandal about one another all day 
long when they are not dancing, who try to pursue pleasure 
in a place where every one else is at work, and are so desti- 
tute of resources, that they quarrel for pure want of 
something to do. See what they have made of my bro- 
ther, who is a clever fellow and a well-educated man, 
though I say it. He is becoming a third-rate dancer — 
one of Tom Edwards’ ; is growing frivolous and 
scandalous, and getting his earnest honesty knocked out 
of him every day, Or profess literature, possibly — 
Henry does a little of that too; you may see him in the 
magazines sandwiched between the last learned cobbler 
and the newest Laura Matilda of the West. No, I don’t 
want to belong to any ‘ Mutual Admiration ’ Society, and 
if I did, it’s too late now. My mind has been spoken 
so often and so freely, that were I to write a book as 
good as one of Fenimore Cooper’s (if you can imagine 
the possibility of a thing even in hypothesis), no editor 
would notice it, and no one read it — unless it contained 
something personal. Here I shall stay and amuse my- 
self in what one of our ex-great men used to call ' digni- 
fied retiracy ;’ and if this railroad drives me out, why 
then, ingens iterabimus cequor — to England, were I a 
bachelor, but my wife couldn’t live there ; no American 
woman can, after the attention she has been used to at 
home, except the ambassador’s wife — so it will probably 


270 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 


be to Italy, or perhaps to Paris, for a man can find oc- 
cupation there, whatever be his peculiar bent, and fill 
up his time well in the place without knowing or liking 
the people. 

^ It does surprise me,’ said Ashburner, Hhat the ter- 
minus of a refined American’s dream should always be 
Paris, — that whenever a man has means and leisure, 
he runs off thither, and stays as long as he can ; and if 
not there, in some other place — anywhere but at home.’ 

‘ Come now,’ broke in Henry Masters — he had retired 
with the ladies after dinner, and now rejoined the men 
to have some claret — ‘ don’t you English run over to 
Paris perpetually, and all round the continent? Don’t 
we meet you everywhere in the four quarters of the 
globe? You don’t like to stay at home any more than 
we do ; only we are franker than you, and avow it ’ 

‘We go away from home, but we don’t like to stay 
away,’ replied the Englishman. 

‘ Exactly ; and if we had a pied-a-terre close to the 
continent as you have, we should not like to stay away 
from home either — more than half the year. Here has 
Carl been making his moan to you about our unappre- 
ciated condition ; it’s always his way over the decan- 
ters — one of his amusements merely. (Carl, old fellow, 
pass the Lafitte this way.) Well, I think,’ and he 
paused to fill a brimming glass, ‘ that we are very jolly 
victims ; and for my part, I am quite disposed to play, 
regardless of my doom. Look at our wives and children, 
our houses and horses, our whole style of living. 
Ponder well on this Bordeaux ; ruminate on these wood- 
cocks we have been discussing. What miserable misused 
fellows we are ! do live in a great country — we 

have such civil and religious liberty as is enjoyed in 
only one other country in the world ; and if we don’t 


CONCLUSION. 


271 


have the management of the government, why no one 
here or abroad holds us responsible for what the govern- 
ment does, and that is just the condition Plato thought 
a philosopher should pray for. Fill up again, brother 
mine, and thank your stars that you have your time to 
yourself, and are not a parliament man, as Ashburner is 
going to be, and are not set to work twelve hours a day 
among blue books and red tape.’ 


And now, reader, these papers, which have been run- 
ning on for a year or more, are wound up. I did not 
begin them intending to give you anything marvellous, 
or new, or profound about the aspect, prospects, and 
destiny, political, religious, or literary, of the great 
people among whom I am a small unit. I only intended 
to present you with some phases of outward life and 
manners — such things as would strike or interest a 
stranger in our beloved Gotham, and in the places to 
which regular Gothamites — American cockneys, so to 
speak — are wont to repair. For I am but a cockney in 
my own country ; I have never travelled far in it, — 
good reason why, when they are apt to hang up a man 
at one end of the Union for what is a sort of religion 
at the other. They did not aspire to be ‘ Sketches of 
American Society’ (that was an honorary prefix of yours, 
Mr. Editor), nor even Sketches of New-York Society, 
but only of a very small class of persons in New-York ; 
and therefore I had originally headed them ‘ The Upper 
Ten Thousand,’ in accordance with a phrase established 
by Mr. Willis, though even that is an exaggeration, for 
the people so designated are hardly as many hundreds. 
In truth, I began the series chiefly to amuse some Can- 
tab friends of mine, who were curious to know how the 


272 SKETCHES OF AMEEICAH SOCIETY. 


gentlemen that were their contemporaries and repre- 
sentatives in our Atlantic cities, lived, and eat, and 
dressed, and amused themselves ; what their habits and 
pursuits and propensities were. The last thing that I 
expected was that any of them should be read, much less 
republished, on my side of the water. To a New-York- 
er, many things which they contain must necessarily 
appear stale, stupid, and commonplace. For instance, 
in one number half a page is taken up with the descrip- 
tion of a trotting-wagon ; to an American I should as 
soon think of describing a pair of boots ; the one is as 
familiar an object to him as the other. But at the very 
first number some clever folks took it into their heads 
that they were to be very personal,— that every character 
described or even alluded to in them was to represent a 
real living prototype ; that was enough to make them 
sought after. And it really did happen that in that first 
number I had described a sleigh which actually existed 
in real wood and iron somewhere about the city; and 
the inference above detailed was obvious. It is not 
every story in Gotham that has so much foundation ; in 
fact, they get them up frequently without any foundation 
to speak of. only unfortunately the narratives don’t fall 
to the ground as readily as the houses do. It is hardly 
worth while contradicting such idle rumours, but to my 
American readers (since I have some, much to my own 
amazement) I wish to say one thing once for all — that 
Harry Masters is not meant to represent any living 
individual whatsoever, and that his wife, house, horses, 
and other accessories, are not designed after the corre- 
sponding appurtenances of any real person. And the 
same remark applies with equal force to all the appenda- 
ges of Carl Masters, as delineated in this very sketch. 


CONCLUSION*. 


273 


Still, I suppose I ought to be obliged to the members 
of ^our set’ who got up this idea; for the factitious in- 
terest thus communicated to these papers has caused 
them to be reprinted (in the cheap and multitudinous 
style of American reprints), and thus to become known 
to the outsiders both of our own city and of other parts 
of the country, who could, perhaps, judge them more 
fairly on their own merits, from having no knowledge of, 
or interest in, the local celebrities supposed to be por- 
trayed in them. Some have been disposed to accept 
them as what they were really meant for — light sketches 
of life and manners in a certain circle ; some have had 
the bad taste to wax furious at them. I understand that 
a few southern editors have departed from their usual 
stoical calmness and dignified reserve on the subject, to 
assail me for my occasional allusions to ‘ the peculiar 
institution and am told (life is too short, and time too 
precious, to read such things oneself, but there are al- 
ways good-natured friends to put you up to them) that a 
correspondent of the Ochlocratic Review and No Gov- 
ernment Advocate, who probably never wore a decent coat 
in his life, and regards every man in a clean shirt as an 
oppressor of the people, has seriously taken me to task 
for representing some of my characters as elegantly 
dressed ! If this individual could find nothing worse 
to say of my papers, after nine months' examination of 
them^ methinks he might have continued to hold his 
tongue ; but I suppose any trash will do for the 
Ochlocratic. 

Whether the abuse of these persons, or the praise of 
others, or my own inclination, may tempt me hereafter 
to essay something more definite and connected, I will 
not say at present. Of the things that ‘ lie on the knees 


274 


SKETCHES OF AMEEICAN SOCIETY. 


of the Gods,’ it becomes no man to speak prematurely. 
Meanwhile, make a long arm across the xAtlantic — So 
— shake hands, and good-bye ! 

Frank Manhattan. 


THE END. 


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